


No Justice I thru V

by Ursula



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-01-15
Updated: 2001-01-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11333163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: See story parts for details.





	No Justice I thru V

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

No Justice I: Summum Bonum by Ursula

No Justice I: Summum Bonum  
by Ursula  
E-mail address for feedback:   
MULDER/KRYCEK   
SLASH  
Rating: R  
SERIES: No Justice One  
DISCLAIMER: Dolphins do it. Chimpanzees do it. If Chris Carter would write it, oh boy, would we watch it, but he doesn't, so we do.

* * *

No Justice I: Summum Bonum  
by Ursula

A small sigh and a restless wiggle of wool blend suit against the leather couch reminded Mulder that he was not alone. He glanced at Krycek, who was sucking on the end of his pen, his black- lashed eyes, half-shuttered, the lids a dusky color, as he uttered that pensive sound. "You want some more coffee?" Mulder asked.

Krycek startled as if he had forgotten where he was. The eyes blinked several times and then, Krycek stretched. His body bulged against the cheap fabric of his suit. He had taken off his jacket before he sat down. His tie was loosened and askew on his neck. His inexpensive shirt was dampening and Mulder could see a dark nipple when Krycek arched his body. He felt a throbbing reaction from his groin as his mind ran a porno-show of those clothes dissolving like those on the stupid gag gift glasses that Frohike had sent him last Christmas.

Krycek said, "No more coffee. I want something cold." He licked his lips, very pretty mouth; the upper lip was an exquisite bow and the lower lip was full, almost sulky. Mulder pictured the lips strained over his cock, eyes open and gazing up at him with that admiring, offering look.

Mulder said, "I have some iced tea." Mulder poured the tea he had brewed in the sun tea jar, that had showed up on his kitchen counter, either a gift from Scully or an odd tracking device from aliens. He had some cookies too. Krycek had brought them in a white paper bakery bag when he had arrived to go over the files on this case. The bag was wrinkled now and grease spots testifying to the presence of fatty substances. Mulder opened the bag and saw small round cookies, covered liberally with powdered sugar. He put them on a plate and carried the offerings into the living room.

In the short time that he had been gone, Krycek had removed his tie and shoes. The navy blue tie, with its yellow diamond pattern, dragged between the agent's fingers as if Krycek was considering strangulation. Krycek's sweet mouth was slightly open, his lips parted and slick with a coat of saliva. The agent startled when Mulder entered the room and a faint color added to his tanned complexion.

Krycek reached down to put his shoes back on. His feet were clad in black socks, the left covering was worn thin, his big toe about to wriggle out. Mulder said, "Hey, relax. I took my shoes off hours ago."

Krycek smiled and pushed the shoes aside, laying the tie inside one of them. Mulder put down the tray and said, "Let's take a break. These cookies look good."

The young agent reached for a napkin, not remarking that it was an overstock from a drive in, the red logo imprinted on a corner. Krycek took up his glass of tea and one of the powdered sugar covered treats. "They're Russian Tea Cakes." He stated, "The bakery makes them with real butter, walnuts ground to a rough flour, and a surprise in the middle."

Chocolate, Mulder discovered, as he bit into one of the concoctions. They melted in a froth of flavor over his tongue. The chocolate inside had a tripod shape and Mulder grinned. He said, "They have kisses inside them."

Krycek's eyes met his and Mulder's smile widened. He was sure now. Krycek bit into the cookie and his pink lips were covered with white powdered sugar. His tongue flicked out and his eyes half closed, a little shiver of delight snaking down his body. Another bite and the cookie was gone, leaving its sweet trail behind, but before Krycek could lick away the evidence, Mulder had moved.

Mulder's own tongue washed away the sweet traces, delved between the lips after licking away every fleck of the treat. His arms on either side of the agent captured him. He straddled Krycek's lap, reached one hand to cup the line of chin and the kiss went longer and deeper then Mulder remembered kissing any one.

A sound emerged almost purr like as Mulder devoured the mouth beneath his. Krycek gripped his shoulder and pulled him closer. Mulder fought his hand in between to unbutton the shirt, pulled it up and away from the sweat damp torso.

He broke apart, looking for consent and Krycek fell like a boneless creature back against the couch, panting; chest rising and falling rapidly. His nipples had peaked and a blush of arousal painted downwards from his slender neck over the upper body and spreading toward the lower torso.

Mulder tore off the belt and unzipped Krycek, ripping down briefs and suit pants, kneeling before the dissolute young god in worship to pull off the socks.

He tenderly stroked the worn spot over the toes and kissed the top of Krycek's naked foot when he had it free.

Krycek naked was just as he should be. The suits had hid a fit body, a wedge of broad flesh from the sturdy shoulders to the stretch of chest, a concave of belly and the v pointer of hair giving direction to the semi-erect cock, standing from his tangled nest of pubic hair. Mulder placed his hands on the knees and spread Krycek wide for perusal and more. Krycek spared him a glance then made a sound of such eagerness that Mulder worried one or both of them would cum before they even consummated as much as a touch of lips to cock.

Krycek's thighs showed the smooth swell of muscle, obtained only from diligent sweating at gyms. The rigid cock was suffusing with deeper colors. Mulder could see a thick vein running down the shaft. It pulsed demandingly. The fat, shiny head of Krycek's rod was beading with pearls of moisture. Mulder felt saliva rise in his mouth, watering in anticipation. Krycek groaned and his head rolled against the leather couch, completely lost in his frenzy of desire. Mulder massaged the inside of Krycek's legs, kissed the smooth, darkened flesh before grasping the thick cock to steady it for his first taste.

Desire had a bitter flavor. Mulder savored it. His own cock was dampening his shorts and the moisture was leaking into the worn fabric of the jeans he wore. Mulder unzipped letting his cock out of its tight bind of material. Krycek pushed outward and Mulder's forgotten tea glass spilled on the coffee table. The young man startled, a guilty look crossing the boyish face. Mulder said, "Forget it."

Mulder explored, circling the smooth head. Krycek emitted a whine then with a sudden decidedness; he said, "Stop."

Damn it, Mulder thought. His eagerness made him want to mutiny. He should have known the exciting although possibly duplicitous beauty was a cock-tease.

A low tone, molasses-thick, imbued with some iniquitous flavor that invited concupiscence, demanded, "More, all the way, fuck me. Take me."

Staggering like drunkards, they paused in the doorway. Mulder threw his perspired tee shirt back towards the living room. Krycek keened as he tugged at Mulder's jeans and shorts, managing to get them off as Mulder clung to the arch, a victim of an internal earthquake. Krycek's eyes swept over him and his face was slack with the force of his desire. They dragged each other the few remaining feet, rapacious to the point of madness. Their mouths devoured each other and their hands pinched, smoothed, grasped, and ripped away any boundaries between them until they were raw and volatile ready for some final, almost fatal ignition.

Mulder dragged Krycek sideway on the bed. The lust-crazed creature arched and spread for him, his body ready and eager. The bed table drawer stuck and Mulder wrenched at it, cursing his procrastination at replacing the obdurate piece of furniture. The entire drawer finally gave, tumbling to the floor.

Krycek propped himself on an elbow, giggling, the sound traveling to create a spiral of soft movement over his entire firm body.

"Don't you laugh," Mulder scolded as he found condoms and a hardly used tube of lubrication.

Krycek laid back, one arm vulnerably out flung, soft whorl of hair in the shadowy pit, tilted hand, opening and closing on the rumpled bedspread.

The other hand rested on his stomach, fingers twitching as if restrained from comforting his upright prick. Mulder's eyes memorized every detail, savoring this moment. His lubricated finger probed and Krycek undulated on the bed. His ass muscles clamped for a moment. Krycek muttered, "Sorry, hurry! I want you so much."

Mulder had never had a lover so eager. Krycek was unbarred to him. His flesh shivered with paroxysms of passion. Mulder reluctantly garbed his flesh in the necessary shield, wishing he could take the risk just this once. He knelt and kissed each leg that now twined around him, sustaining their solid weight in fervent clasp of him.

To enter Krycek was at first like floating on the heavy salt of oceanic waters. Mulder had a sensation of harbor, not entering, but reuniting two magnetic halves. To thrust and writhe against each other's superheated flesh was to drown in the depths. He gasped. Krycek uttered a sound like agony manifest. Mulder felt the bristle of his harsh hair against the ripe halves of that perfect ass. Krycek's neck was lifted to him, baring itself to his conquest. The lips drew away from the flawless gnash of teeth. He moaned, abandoned, for a moment alone in his pleasure until his eyes flashed open and he grasped Mulder's hand. Krycek laved an open mouthed kiss on the palm before allowing Mulder to grip him harder.

Mulder thrust, his teeth gritted as he willed it not to stop just yet, but Krycek screamed silently and his cock jerked forcefully as his cum pulsed from the empurpled organ. Mulder lost his battle and gratefully succumbed to his pleasure. The universe narrowed to the fire that burned along every nerve and caused Mulder's flesh to spasm in a cataclysm of completion.

Slipping apart, Mulder felt a bone deep loss. The two of them panted in rythmm still, a harmony of exertion. Mulder collapsed beside Krycek's surfeit body. He laid a possessive hand on the tender flesh of Krycek's belly, feeling the dampness of sweat and the sticky traces of his spent desire. Krycek stroked the condom-clad heat of Mulder's dwindling erection, drawing the second skin away and disposing of it.

Krycek moved first, up, away. Mulder's heart pounded. He swore if Krycek tried to walk away from this as if it were nothing that he would run naked down the corridor and force him back.

Krycek returned; skin dewed with water, still a tantalizing hint of sex beneath the stronger odor of fresh soap. A perfectly heated washcloth delicately cleaned Mulder's sensitive cock. Krycek insistently pulled at Mulder, monk-like in his silence as if belonging to some order that prohibited speech, but not passion. Mulder let himself be drawn up. Krycek tossed the soiled spread to the side and drew back the blanket and sheet. He slid into the bed, sighed, holding up an importuning hand. Mulder took the offering, kissed the sweat from the palm, and tasted the salt from the soft creases between fingers. He lay down, snuggled to the now familiar body. Spooned together, a stroke of tender hands along strands of velvety hair, an almost chaste kiss and their breaths harmonized into deep, sweet sleep.

COMPLETION

 

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No Justice II: Nil Astraea  
by Ursula  
E-mail address for feedback: 

* * *

No Justice II: Nil Astraea  
by Ursula

Mulder woke, arms stretching out as his body stirs to life. He feels a twinge or two and his mouth tastes of past sweetness. One hand encounters warmth, the texture of skin, the faint soft sparseness of hair. He strokes the flesh that he touches and someone makes a sound, almost purr like. Now, Mulder's eyes open and he turns. As if connected to him, Alex is turning also. He's smiling. Mulder smiles too. They move the small distance between them and meet in embrace.

Alex's breath is still sweet. Mulder finds one final trace of sugar over his lips and licks it away. He cups Alex's face with his hands; his thumbs almost meet in the middle of Alex's long, beautiful neck. He can feel the pulse beneath the satin of the skin and as he leans down, he feels that Alex's blood is rushing faster. Alex's lips part for his kiss. Then their mouths touch, gently at first, Mulder brushes Alex's tongue with his, pulls back to see the beautiful face and sees some question in the large eyes. He thinks he sees pain and sadness and Mulder feels strong. What he wants is to take that grief away. He wants to ask, "Who hurt you? How can I make it better?" Instead, he leans back down and they kiss again, kiss until Mulder is giddy with lack of oxygen.

Mulder's arms frame Alex's body as he leans over him. Alex reaches up; his arms pull Mulder down. He is pressing so urgently that Mulder can feel every hair on his body, every bone in Alex's body. Their hearts are beating in the same rythmm. Alex's mouth opens as if gasping or ready to cry out with pain. His teeth flash in the dim light. Mulder lays a palm on Alex's cheek, feeling the roughness of morning stubble. Alex reaches and brings Mulder's hand to his mouth. He kisses it and then holds it to his lips for a long moment. Alex blinks, his thick lashes drifting down to hide the glow of the eyes.

"Mulder." Alex says, "Mulder." His voice is velvet. His voice evokes something, long summer mornings, a tiger's sullen grace, and a whispering sultriness that is the essence of desire.

Mulder doesn't understand the desperation in his lover's voice. He's not sure why Alex grieves when he is happy, delirious to have found this joy. Mulder asks, "Did I do something wrong?"

Alex shakes his head in negation. He replies, "No, it was perfect. It was everything." His voice shakes with emotion on the last word.

Still bemused, but certain that Alex feels what he feels, Mulder kisses Alex again, draws him up so they kneel on the rumpled bed, the covers gone askew, one pillow tumbling almost off the side. Light stripes their bodies as it shines from beneath the thinly parted Venetian blinds. A bead of sweat appears at the base of Alex's throat. It slides slowly down as if even this liquidity longs to trace the smooth, sculpture of that chest. Mulder feels awkward, too lanky, his torso a lattice of rungs compared to the geometric perfection of Alex's shoulders, the hollows beneath the wings of his collar bones, the swell of pectorals all leading to his narrow waist below. There's the spot beneath the throat, a hollow, in Alex, it is just so, a vulnerable soft place and Mulder must lay his lips there. Alex's breath catches again.

Mulder looks up. He promises, "What ever happened, Alex. What ever makes you afraid of this. It won't happen with me. I promise."

Alex's voice is soft, as if he afraid that someone will hear. "What if I'm not who you think I am?"

In this moment, Mulder doesn't really hear the question. He says, "Do you love me?"

There is a long silence and Mulder slowly raises his head to confront a turned away head, the line of that face, the soft fall of those lashes, the throat arched unguarded. Mulder is afraid now too. He broke the unspoken rules; it was too soon, too much. Then, Alex answers, "Yeah, we're both crazy. This wasn't supposed to happen. We can't..."

Mulder turns the face back and lifts Alex's chin with a gentle touch. He smoothes the trembling lips with a finger that also shakes. "If you love me, nothing else matters."

Alex smiles and he is lying down. His hands reach to draw Mulder with him. They lay together. They embrace and they cling together, denying the morning and the world outside. Here, together, their bodies touching, Alex's face pressed to the curve of Mulder's neck, Mulder's arms protecting him. A shiver and Mulder draws the blanket up to shield them.

The sun has passed behind a cloud and the light is so soft, diffused as it enters. The day will not intrude and in the silence, their breaths draw together, their exhalations are one as they fall back asleep in each other's arms.

The end

 

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No Justice III: Conflagration  
by Ursula  
E-mail address for feedback: 

* * *

No Justice III: Conflagration  
by Ursula

Mulder looked up from his desk and over to the one where Alex sat, dutifully slogging through reports. A drop of sweat ran down from his forehead, detoured at that funny crease above his nose before stopping at the slightly upturned end to slide below. Alex brushed it away and sighed softly. Mulder looked around and everyone else had found some excuse to go home. Alex's shirt was nearly transparent with sweat, clinging to his body invitingly. His suit jacket had fallen to the floor and one sleeve was caught in the wheels of his chair. Mulder leaned his sharp chin on one hand; his elbow on the desk and smiled. Alex was damn cute.

Mulder watched Alex chew on a nail, mumble something as he made a wrong keystroke and groan as his terminal froze again as the buildings lights blinked.

Alex hunched his shoulder blades and frantically searched to see if his document was saved. It must have been because he exclaimed, "Got'cha!"

Mulder heard, "Harrumph" He looked up and Skinner was leaning in the doorway. Mulder wondered how long his boss had been standing there? Long enough to observe him, lost in a dream as he watched his young lover sweat?

Skinner was smiling. Even he had given in to the failed air conditioning and was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and lightweight suit pants. His striped tie hung loosely around his neck. Skinner took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.

He said, "Mulder, Krycek, go home. If I need someone, I'll call you. Go on now."

Alex turned off his terminal and he glanced at Mulder with a faint smile. Alex tried to push his chair away from the desk, but, of course, his coat was caught in the base. Mulder rushed to help, extracted the cotton blend suit jacket with a small moue of distaste. About the only thing, he disliked about Alex these days was his god-awful wardrobe. Alex glanced at Skinner and said, "Thank-you, Sir."

Skinner said, "No problem, Krycek. You must be a good influence on Mulder. I've never known him to hang around here in the middle of a heat wave for mere paper work. Always before, some bizarre case popped up some place cooler."

Mulder pointed out, "The X Files are closed, sir and I couldn't arrange for any domestic terrorism in a better climate." Skinner pushed his glasses back up; his sweat had made them sink towards the bottom of his nose. He walked over, his eyes following Krycek's cat like stretch with a certain interest and approval that made Mulder frown jealously. Alex didn't notice the A.D.'s attention. He was putting his desk to order with his usual attention to detail. Alex could tell if anyone had even moved a pencil. Mulder approved of the paranoia. It was just one of the ways in which they suited each other. Alex fumbled at his tie, glanced at Skinner, who said, "You're off work. You don't need that, Krycek."

Alex smiled and his eyelashes slid down to shade his eyes very becomingly. Mulder's eyes caught Skinner's glance soften and he wanted to rush his lover away from that gaze. Mulder said, "Come on, Alex, let's stop for a drink someplace where the ice isn't melting and the air conditioners are on."

In the elevator, Mulder pushed for the basement and hoped like hell a brown out wouldn't leave them trapped here. He pinned Alex to the wall, his groin rubbing a gentle message into Alex's as his fingers held the door-closed button. Mulder growled, "Did you see the way Skinner was looking at you?"

Alex stared at him and laughed. Oh, god, that laugh was the rustle of velvet, the purr of a lion, it was enough to make Mulder press his lips against that long, elegant neck to feel the echo of the vibration fade away. Mulder said, "Three days, Alex, we have three days off. First holiday we haven't had to work since I met you. I want you every second of it. I want you some place where we can go naked all day if we want. Some place where I can kiss you and no one will care."

Alex laughed again and he pulled Mulder into a swift embrace before the elevator door opened. They separated. The garage at least was a few degrees cooler. It had been Alex's turn to drive. They had told everyone they were car-pooling to save gas, pointing out that if there were a case to investigate, they would go together in any event. The truth was that Alex had only been to his apartment to grab a few items and check the mail in days. They spend each night in Mulder's bed. Mulder couldn't imagine wanting it any other way. He didn't want to sleep apart. He didn't think his other serious relationships felt this way. He guessed the difference was that he felt...tender toward Alex as well as passionate. He hadn't felt that with Phoebe or with Diana. Maybe it was because they had been the seducers in both cases. Mulder watched Alex slide into the seat beside him and smiled, he had taken the initiative with Alex and he was very glad that he had dared.

In the car, Mulder asked, "So, Alex, will you come with me? I was going to spend Independence Day there anyway, alone."

Alex started the car, reached down to pick up a crumpled sunflower seed bag before he released the brake. He tucked it into a litterbag. Mulder said, "Sorry, I didn't throw it there. It must have fallen from my pocket."

Alex laughed again and said, "If I ever lost you, I'd trail you by the litter that follows you." Alex asked, "You sure you want me for three days, just the two of us?"

Mulder replied, "Yeah, oh, yeah, Alex. Let's go to your place first. You won't need anything fancy. We're going to a cabin that some relatives own. We'll pick up the food we need before we get there. Nothing but lazing in bed and making love."

Alex stretched his neck; he did that when he was uneasy. Mulder patted Alex's knee and said, "Alex, am I pushing you too quickly?"

Alex threw off whatever vagary of mood had made him look so wistful and uncertain. He said, "No, that's not it. I'm just not used to anyone wanting me to be with him. I mean, outside of bed, like, you know."

Mulder said, "Like lovers?"

Alex's smile started as a small curve and then spread in an undulation of joy over his face. He nodded and Mulder noticed for the first time that Alex had dimples. He vowed he would kiss them sometime this weekend. Mulder teased, "Say it, Alex, dare you to."

Alex shook his head, but his eyes glinted with mischief beneath the shadow of his lashes. Then in a husky whisper, he said, 'Okay, Mulder, you want to be with me like lovers do?"

And Mulder replied, achingly, "Yeah, just like that." Alex's eyes held wonder. Mulder found it hard to believe that someone as beautiful as Alex could doubt his worthiness to be loved just as he did. Still, Mulder thought, it was true as if each of them waited for the other.

Alex grabbed a few things. They would shop later on the way. Mulder had already packed. Alex said that he wanted to change. He came out wearing a grin and little else. He wore cut offs, very brief cutoffs. They were frayed and ragged, worn soft so his buttocks were both tightly cupped and almost transparently outlined. He wore sandals and carried a tee shirt in his hand. Mulder had to stared, his gaze starting at the winged beauty of Alex's neck and down, and down, those long, long legs back up to the arrogant bulge below that straining zipper.

Mulder finally ventured, "You going to try to get me arrested for public indecency?"

Alex laughed and said, "Mmm, maybe, Mulder. I just want to kick back and be myself, no ties, no white shirts, no belts."

Mulder added, "Hardly any clothing."

Alex teased, turning around to reveal that the ragged fringes barely concealed the swell of his round cheeks. If he bent down to far, the stout line that centered the garment was going to divide that luscious ass like a lover's hands. "I wanted to wear this for you since the first time I saw you."

Mulder's laughter up easily as he imagined the vision he had first encountered in the bullpen. Alex Krycek, clad like Jimmy Olsen on a bad day, reaching out an eager hand, and almost blushing beneath the bad hair cut; it was hard to reconcile that with this temptation in a scrap of denim. Mulder said, "I was such an ass to you that day. It's a wonder you could even stand me."

Alex said, "Yeah, you were an ass, but, hey, that's part of your charm, Mulder."

He said, "I'll change if you want. I can wear this where we're going."

Mulder grinned and said, "No, leave it. I want every man and every woman we meet to take a good long look at what they can't have. Cause I got you."

Alex said, "You sure do." He slid the tee shirt on and grabbed his duffel bag and the book he was currently reading. He announced, "Ready."

They shopped at the large town between the city and their destination, picking an array of foods that required little cooking, but which suited their fancy. Alex added marshmallows, Hershey bars and Graham Crackers. Mulder wistfully remembered the last time he had made those with his sister, only a few days before her abduction. Alex caught his change in mood and said, "You don't like S'mores?"

Mulder said, "I love them. Just a good memory of Samantha."

Alex frowned and said, "You sure? I don't want you to be sad. I want this to be perfect."

Mulder said, "It will be."

They loaded their eclectic collection into the rented jeep and set off for the cabin. Mulder took over the driving at this point. Alex looked sleepy. He had wanted to finish a surveillance transcription last night. Then, even though it had been very late, they had made love, drawing the foreplay out long into the night.

Alex needed more sleep than Mulder did and he had only a few hours before the alarm clock had demanded they wake. Now, Alex threw back his head against the seat rest, tilting the seat back as far as it would go. "I'm going to take a nap if you don't mind." He announced.

Mulder replied, "No, get some rest." A few minutes later, Alex was asleep, his lips parted as his slow, deep breaths emerged. His eyelashes fluttered, the dark lids moved as if he was already dreaming. Mulder hoped that Alex was having good dreams. He had nightmares sometimes like Mulder did; terrors, which ripped him screaming from his sleep and sent him to Mulder's arms to be soothed back over long moments back into rest. Mulder was proud of the way he could calm his lover and he wondered what it had been like for Alex before they had found each other...

Stopped by a light, Mulder used the opportunity to study Alex, thinking that he would never tire of this subject. One of Alex's long legs was propped against the door; the other lulled away so the tight cutoffs barely covered the essentials. Mine, Mulder thought, peeking at the golden expanse of skin exposed. A pick-up truck taller than the jeep pulled up next to them at the light. Alex uttered a sleepy contented sound as his hand tumbled lower on his body, resting below his naval, thumb catching on the sweat darkened waistband of his cutoffs. His stretched back position revealed the incantations of his flesh, the call of the lithe muscle indenting the ribs, the swells and hollows of Alex, glossy with the sheen of his sweat. The zipper had worked partially down after Alex unbuttoned the fly. If you looked closely as Mulder did, you could see a black curl trying to spring loose.

The women in the car were possibly twenty, a blond and a brunette, both wearing scraps of material even less substantial then Alex's denim loincloth. On a normal day, Mulder would have been very happy to feast his eyes on all the bouncy female flesh that was exposed. One of the women, the blond driver was leaning out her window. A horn blast complaining about the length of the light blotted out her comment. Mulder frowned as Alex stirred in his sleep, startling, but not entirely waking. Mulder listened for the woman's question, expecting to hear that a tail light was out or a request for directions which would have been a very foolish move on her part as Scully or Alex could both testify that he could just barely navigate from his apartment to the office without a wrong turn. The woman dipped her sunglasses and shouted, "Oh, honey, do us a favor and slide that zipper the rest of the way down."

Mulder indulged in a faint gesture as if he was really going to do it. The light changes and he lead footed the pedal with a saucy, "In your dream, baby, this one is mine." He laughed and when he glanced in the mirror, to his surprise, the blond was flashing him a power sign. Oh, yeah, this day was a good one!

At the turn off to the cabin, Mulder took out the silk scarf and said, "Now, I blindfold you."

Alex smirked and replied, "What's next? Tying up?"

Mulder said, "Maybe. If you're naughty, I want you to see where we are going all at once. You're going to love this."

Alex submitted. He did look piquant there; nearly naked, sweat trickling down his glowing body, and the black silk tied around his beautiful head. Mulder couldn't resist a kiss, stopping as they rounded the first of many curves. The cabin hadn't changed a bit since the last time that Mulder had borrowed it. He had brought Diana up here. That was a regret now. He wished he could have saved it for Alex. Well, by the end of the next three days, he hoped he would never see this place without thinking of his beloved.

Mulder parked next to the cabin and grinned as he thought about the next part of his plan. Alex opened the jeep's door and sat there. He asked, "Can I take this blindfold off now?"

Mulder said, "Not yet. Wait. I have some place I want you to see. The blindfold will make it perfect. Trust me."

Mulder led Alex out of the car and around the back of the cabin. The path was well maintained. Money can buy good service on occasion and the people who owned this place insisted on buying the best. The path was spread with bark and under laid with pebbles. Other wise, the surroundings were untouched until they crossed a tiny covered log bridge over the stream that ran through the property. Mulder whispered, "What do you hear, Alex? How does this feel?"

Mulder watched Alex's nostrils flare as he strained his other senses to take in his location. Alex said, "I hear water. It's running fast and there's a bird singing. Mmm, insects and a breeze, just a little one." Alex smiled and added, "I know we're on a bridge because I can hear water all around us. There's coolness too. It feels so good." Alex whispered, "And I can hear your breathing change as you look at me. That feels even better."

That deserved a kiss. Mulder rewarded both of them with one. They stood in the shade of the wooden arch, the shadow made Alex's face a mystery beyond that of the blindfolded eyes. Mulder's hands traveled slowly up and down the sleek sides until they rested on the small of Alex's back. His thumbs worked their way under the waistband until Mulder could feel the swell of Alex's cheeks. When Alex's knees begin to sag, he knew it was time to move on.

The path grew narrower and steeper. The green of the place was fierce, unchecked. A riot of flowers still tangled in the long grass. The air was heady, sweet with the smell of lush vegetation. Something sweet was in bloom. Birds startled as they walked, shooting out of the vegetation with sudden bursts. Alex gripped his hand harder the first time it happened but relaxed as he realized what the sound was. Mulder had to go a little ahead and reach back to guide Alex. It thrilled him that Alex didn't try once to loosen the covering on his eyes. Alex trusted him. Mulder wondered if he would ever have been able to do this even for his lover. They climbed up the rocky summit until they stood above the silver rush of water.

Mulder waited a moment as they stood on the brink. He had to have one final kiss before untying the silken knot. Alex understood; his whole body leaned into Mulder's, offering himself as a sacrifice. Mulder's felt a sting of tears in his eyes. Alex was so beautiful. This place framed him as he deserved; it was wild, sweet, untamed, incandescent in its loveliness. Mulder swiftly untied the blindfold as their lips parted. Alex swayed and Mulder gladly embraced him, supporting him until the sensation passed.

Mulder watched the beauty register in Alex's eyes. Alex's lips parted as he drew in a swift, deep breath. The green eyes matched the surroundings, whirling in the almost unbearable clarity of this moment. Alex reached for Mulder's hand as it lay across his belly. He squeezed it, a silent message as he drank in this offering. Mulder stood with his chin resting against Alex's shoulder. His cheer lay against Alex's as he held him closely.

When Alex finally spoke, his words were simple, "Mulder, oh, Mulder, thank-you."

Alex turned gradually so they remained fully in contact at each second. Alex swayed as if intoxicated by the beauty, by their passion, by this transitory paradise. The sun dappled his skin as it shone through the branches of a gnarled oak on the cliff above. Mulder raised Alex's hands, cupped by his own and kissed them. Alex's eyes conveyed so much. He stepped closer and then they were in each other's arms again.

They walked down the path together. Alex paused looking back, the black silk scarf twisting absently through his strong hands. He whispered, "So beautiful, and you brought me here. You wanted me here."

Mulder held out his hand and said, "Yeah, ever since that first night I dreamt of bringing you here. This place was made for you, Alex."

Alex shook his head and said, "Oh, I think it will be as beautiful when we're long gone. But, you know, I like that too. I like to think of lovers past and lovers to come, sharing as you shared with me."

Mulder smiled at that. They were just different enough to delight each other with the oddities of their perceptions. He had never met anyone better suited to him. He felt a stab of guilt as he briefly recalled his interrupted partnership with Scully. He didn't mean disloyalty to her. It was just that Alex intoxicated him. Where Scully made him question himself; Alex fulfilled him. Mulder shrugged the feeling away. In the best of worlds, he would have both partners. Someday, perhaps, Mulder thought, but there would never be anyone who tantalized and satisfied like Alex.

Now that they had satisfied their hunger for beauty, there were practical matters, unloading groceries, inspecting the cabin, turning on the generator so they could indulge in electrical lights, and making the resplendent bed in the sunlit bedroom. Those tasks done, they showered, each one's hand slipping soap-slick over the other's body. "I'd know you anywhere," Mulder thought as he memorized the texture of his lover's back, petted the few silken hairs that decorated the chest. Mulder settled his lover against the wall, Alex leaning forward, body an elegant bow and his cock, just rising; the arrow of his desire. Teasing, Mulder tickled under Alex's arms, bidding him, "Got to stay still or we won't get out and try the bed." Mulder nuzzled the softness below. Clean, Alex still had a musk to him; some uniqueness that was just him. Alex writhed as Mulder flicked out a tongue to taste him. Mulder purred, "Just right now. Come here."

One of them turned off the water. Alex stepped away then he fled swiftly, his laughing face turned back a moment to be sure that Mulder chased. Mulder timed the tackle to perfection; plummeting both of them down into the soft welcome of the soft bed. He kissed and nibbled along Alex's neck, suckled on the softness just below Alex's small, pointed ears. Surprising him with his strength, Alex turned suddenly, almost lifting him fully into the air before flipping Mulder over with a scissoring wrestling move.

Mulder chuckled and said, "Wrestling team?"

Alex nodded and licked his lips. "Like my moves?"

Mulder replied, "Vastly, now you have me here, pinned down; should do something, take advantage, ravish me." His words deepened with his desire.

Alex scooted up, still holding back Mulder's arms. He said, "I could just eat you up; you look so good."

Mulder lifted his legs invitingly and said, "Hell of a good idea."

Alex's mouth briefly found Mulder's and his wicked tongue flicked in and teased, promising everything. Alex kissed his shoulder blades, his mouth nibbled and sucked on the inside of Mulder's elbows until each sensitized field of flesh decided it was a new erogenous zone. Mulder's body was smoldering with desire before Alex even cupped his quivering ball sac, caressing that until Mulder wanted to force Alex's head up to his pulsating need. Alex's tongue explored the underside of Mulder's cock, before tracing it higher. One small kiss on the head nearly made him leap from the bed. Then he was drowning his conflagration in Alex's mouth, the rythmm intense; a relief that he was more then ready to need.

Mulder wondered how it could feel like this, his pleasure a maddening climb and his body driven to the extreme of need. Coming this way felt like an explosion of bliss. His flesh was a consumption, a blaze consuming all until he gasped at the end of it, looking up into Alex's face, gazing at him as seriously and intently as the smooth features of a graven idol. Mulder tugged Alex down for a kiss. He was exhausted and even knowing that he should be giving back; all he could do was to wrap Alex in his arms and hold him; hold him as if they both were falling and it was moments to the ground, a brief suspension to express everything he felt. And, it must have been love, because Alex laid his wet face against Mulder's neck and it was enough for him.

Perhaps that mental image of falling was the seed of the nightmare. Mulder half knew that he dreamt. He woke aware from diffused light that he was back in his own apartment. He knew it was Alex's body, moving away from him that woke him. He reached out catching Alex's hand, rendered speechless by this dream. His body was leaden, heavy anchored with that terrifying paralysis which was inflicted by sleep. Alex's expression changed. At first, Mulder saw the face he had woken to see the second night that they had spent together. He remembered abruptly waking and seeing Alex sitting up, looking at him with an absolute perfection of longing and it had been unbearably sweet to the point of almost pain to draw him near and make love to him until he had healed the grief entirely.

Mulder wanted to do that again, but Alex tugged away, terror inundating his eyes, a cold sweat of fear shivering from his dear body. Some voice was calling Alex. It was smoothly smoky, a serpentine venom of a sound. "Alex, come away. Alex, leave him."

Alex's hand knotted tightly in his and Mulder tried to speak, tried to say, 'Stay, don't listen."

The voice grew stronger, like the lash of a whip leaping forward and Mulder saw that the darkness in his room was no natural thing. It was an oily, creeping miasma, like smoke, but more palpable. He wanted to scream as he saw tendrils reach the bed. God, Alex's leg was over the side lost in that evil, seething stuff.

Alex's hand was losing its grip on Mulder's. His other hand grasped on the bedding, white knuckled, shaking with fear and effort. Mulder saw a tentacle of the amorphous evil close on Alex's wrist. He was being dragged away. Now, Mulder's one hand was all that held him and the mass of smoke retreated, taking Alex with it. Alex's face was turning away, resignation replacing the terror. Mulder wanted to tell him to hold on, hold tighter, but words, his facile, easy, language failed him entirely. Mulder felt a sharp tug and his grip broke. He was not strong enough to keep Alex from the encroaching darkness. He had failed, again, always failed, and the fingertips just brushed him lightly before they too were taken and the black horror oozed away inch-by-inch, taking Alex with it as the light grew in the room. Alex never entirely looked away until he was swallowed entirely into the void and the room was bright now, well-lit and vacant of all that had any meaning; just Mulder, just Mulder alone.

Now in the emptiness, too late, Mulder screamed, "Alex, Alex!" and Mulder sat up in the bed, reaching for his lover, a moment of de-je-vue striking as he found the bed vacant just as happened in his dream. He tumbled out of bed, looking for his lover. It was a small cabin and searching in didn't take long. He ran out the door. The jeep was still as haphazardly parked as he had left it, but someone had dug in the luggage. Mulder noted that one of the beach towels was missing and he grinned in relief. Mulder grabbed his own towel, the one with Thanks For All The Fish, printed on it over a parade of dolphins leaping off earth into space.

Mulder headed up the trail, naked except for his sandals. As he turned down the incline, he slowed, half intending to leap upon Alex and give him the scare he deserved in exchange for the fright Mulder had felt when he woke up alone. His intent became a wisp floated away on the languid breeze as he caught sight of his lover.

Mulder's toes caught the edge of Alex's towel and the inside out pair of cutoffs that were tossed upon it. He crouched silently as if stalking something wild as he saw Alex. Alex gleamed in the waters of the minuscule waterfall. The water cascaded off his shoulders and shimmered lovingly down his body. His legs were braced slightly apart on a pair of flat rocks. He held his balance like a dancer as his face lifted, eyes closed, lashes spiked like exotic feathers, lips parted, and his expression ecstatic, a male Danae, ravished by a shower of silver instead of gold. His nipples were tightly furled rosebuds, crinkled from the cold. At last, he moved a slow ripple of his hands down his body, stroking his sun kissed flesh, exploring the smooth muscles and the satin skin as Mulder loved to do. He smiled, white teeth shining in the bright reflection from the broken waters.

His lips parted in a word as his hands made love to his shivering skin. Mulder greedily concentrated until he saw the lips were forming his name.

Mulder couldn't resist another moment. He said, "Alex, Alex, come here."

Alex opened his eyes from his waking dream and his smile broadened in delight. "Mulder!" he said, as if surprised. "Mulder, I was just wishing you were awake."

Mulder admitted, "I'm not sure that I am. When I saw you just now, I couldn't believe how beautiful you are. You didn't seem real."

Alex emerged from the water, dashing it off his skin. His lips were blue-tinged and Mulder almost felt the urge to scold him for chilling himself to this degree, but instead, Mulder enfolded him in his own towel and in his arms. His heated flesh, his rising cock embraced the cool shivers and Mulder rubbed vigorously with the towel, kneeling to dry each long, lovely leg. Alex's foot rested on his knee as Mulder dried it and Alex looked down at him, enigmatic smile resting on those succulent lips. Alex's toes caressed Mulder's thigh lightly and then he knelt, sinking down almost instantly to lie upon the spread towel.

His voice, a husky growl, Alex said, "If you don't make love to me right now, right here, I think that I'll die."

The sun warmed them. The rush of water shielded the sounds of their love. As the day finally cooled, a vapor arose from the cascade of the waterfall. It touched their skin, still hot from the sun, heated from each other. No one saw them. There was no intrusion- yet if any had saw; it would have seemed a repeated vision, a mirage of lovers dreamt of the earth. This was one perfect moment, and the lens of time caught it here, repeating so their love, total, at the height of their passion and adoration would never be lost, this perfect moment...

In Saecula Saeculorum...

 

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Title: No Justice IV: Erinyes  
Dedication: to ned and leny (Thank-you for my page)  
Author/pseudonym: Ursula  
Fandom: X Files  
Pairing: Mulder and Krycek  
Rating: NC-17 Slash  
Status: New  
Archive: Yes, anywhere  
E-mail address for feedback:   
Series: No Justice Story 4  
Other websites: N/A  
Disclaimers: Chris Carter and Fox TV own the characters.  
Notes: Spoilers for Piper Maru and Apocrypha  
Summary: Thoughts during Piper Maru and Apocrypha  
Warnings: Slash

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No Justice IV: Erinyes  
  


And now, he looks at me as if it's all my fault. He's bleeding. I can already see my mark on him; one eye's going to be black and there's a red outline of my fist on his cheek. Despite the sneer that he bestowed on me, I can see the tears in his eyes. Christ, what's he been doing to himself? He has dark circles under his eyes and his hands are shaking. He's very thin and his eyes are wild with fear. He's holding a key out to me, his body as far from mine as he can get. He can't get away from me, trapped in this phone kiosk. I can't believe no one came to see what the fuss was. Maybe, they think that it's a lover quarrel.

For a few minutes, I really thought I would kill him. It wasn't my sanity that saved me even though this is Hong Kong where capital punishment is swift and frequent for such crimes. I don't think being a law enforcement officer would protect me either. I guess what really stopped me was the way it felt to me. It wasn't justice or retribution that I felt. No, I found in myself a horrible sick pleasure in driving my fist into flesh, the flesh that I had caressed, kissed, and held. I wanted to feel the pain in his body; the body that had thrilled me no matter how many times he gave it to me. As I struggled with him, I was aware that I was hard against him as he was against me. This stopped me.

Krycek was ripe, his leather jacket with it's chains and pockets held his odor. His black jeans and the long sleeved sweatshirt he wore were dusty and rank. It should have repulsed me but really, I wanted to continue to press into him and to open my nostrils widely, sniffing at him like he was a bitch in heat. He looked beautiful, even like this or especially like this. The stubble was rough on his cheeks and his eyelashes were spiked together into points with tears. His nose was bleeding. My eyes followed the trickle as it sped toward his mouth. I wanted to taste it. I really wanted to do that as if I was sick as the men I used to profile in simpler days.

Instead, I said, " Why don't you go to the bathroom and clean yourself off? If you're not out of there in three minutes, I'm coming in there to kill you." Listening to myself, I think that I truly have gone mad. He sneers at me, but his walk is shambling and he nearly stumbles. When we reach the men's rest room, I shove him in one instant and grab him in the next. His jacket slides off his shoulder and, in a flash, I want to keep tearing at his clothing. I want to press him down on the floor, right there, in this busy airport and rape him.

Letting go, I checked the restroom, confirming that there is no exit. I realize that I have left him unguarded and unfettered, standing far enough away so he should have ran. Instead, he has wiped his face and is staring at the blood on his hand. I motioned for him to enter and he wakes from his trance and walks by me. A moment later, I realize that I haven't searched him, not really. I rush in behind him and, noticing a "closed for cleaning sign" on a stand, I place that in the hall. I threw him hard against the wall, my cock leaping at the sight of his ass in those tight black jeans. I search him, professionally at first, but then, with increasing intimacy, my breaths becoming greedy pants as my hands grab at his flesh. I lock the door for good measure. He remains slumped against the wall as if half fainting.

There is lube, lots of tiny packets in his pockets and condoms, many condoms. He hardly has any money just the ticket and a few dollars plus some local currency. I pulled the jacket off and let it drop to the floor. Next, I reached around and felt for a button. There was none; he had lost it somewhere. He was always doing that when...I can't think about that. I can't think of what I believed when it was all lies. I pulled his zipper down and followed with his jeans. He was bare to me and, though the rest of him was thin, his ass was as fine as ever, round and firm, an offering I intended to take for my own again.

When I reached in to lubricate him, he was already greased and he seemed stretched as well. What the hell had he been doing? I said, "You've been whoring, haven't you, Krycek? Is that how you bought your ticket?"

Alex cringed and replied, "I'm sorry, Mulder "

His reply was so natural. He was sorry for that when he never asked for forgiveness or even admitted to anything else that he had done. A mad laugh escaped from me and in a fit of derision, I pressed a fifty dollar bill into his hand where it braced, white knuckled against the wall. I commented, "The going rate might be higher, but you're not exactly prime material right now."

Krycek said nothing, but he let the money drop to the floor. I took him like that, him leaning against the wall, myself, slamming into him, my violence fighting with the wildly erotic feeling this gave me. His grunts intermingled with sob-like noises and that aroused me further until it was mere moments before I came. He huddled against the wall still as I washed myself after disposing of the condom. I ordered, "Clean your self off" and he went into a stall, hiding his actions from me. I looked in the mirror and straightened my hair, smoothing back into the ill-fitting skin of Agent Mulder, who had once been a man who care deeply, loved unwisely, and believed that we deserve judgment only in a court of law. I walked outside and wiped at my forehead, feeling the impact of that head butt against my opponent.

Standing there, horrified at myself, caught in the grip of emotions that I thought I had suppressed, Krycek might have marched past me, juggling a dozen copies of the disc and I would not have noticed. When he came out, his movements were strange to me. The stumbling awkwardness had vanished and his face that had looked so wearied, so mad with fear had smoothed to a mask. Even his eyes were alien to me, they seemed dark, and none of the green and blue hues were left. Sarcastically, I asked, "Feel better?"

Krycek replied, "Like a new man..." and his voice was calm as if the fight had never happened nor the sordid rape in the room.

All that long flight across the ocean, he sat quietly and stared out into the darkness. He didn't ask for anything nor did he nap. The few times when the flight attendant asked something, he shook his head no and dismissively turned away.

Once or twice, I found myself staring at him, trying to understand what had taken place. I even convinced myself that he was in shock, that my assault and rape has been such a psychological blow that he had retreated into a fugue state. Wanting to test this, I asked, "Krycek, are you okay?"

There was a feeling for a moment of a struggle. I saw the mask slip and something frantic stared out, reminding me of that nightmare I had in our one brief vacation to my friend's cabin. I had dreamed of something black and terrible had carried him away. It had come true in a way, but he had gone willingly, hadn't he?

The icy expression crept back, like a slow numbness over him. He said, "Fine, Mulder, why shouldn't I be?" He turned his gaze back to the featureless unchanging void of the night sky.

What kept me there, I wonder? Why didn't I run? I must have been mad to stand there, hurting, exhausted, my hunger burning my insides, having failed to eat for, god what was it? More then a day, less then a week, it was all a blur. Someone had given me several hits of speed and I took them gratefully. It was free, more or less, given in exchange for things that no longer had value and meaning. The drugs fueled my drive to collect enough money to leave this place, this place where I had sold what ever remained of my self-respect. My days and nights had been spent in anonymous rooms or worse just stepping into a crevice in a wall and kneeling or bending, accepting them all. It seemed that my body was like a public urinal, some mechanical relief that could have no feelings, no purpose other then the orifices it contained. Mulder's fists, his rage, the spitting fury of his words, at least, it confirmed to me that I was someone. Oh, his anger was personal and even though I was not as guilty as he thought, I accepted it as justified. I was bleeding. I touched the small pain in wonder as if surprised that I could still exude such fluids when all of me felt like stone.

When he turned back to me, he was beautiful. I really thought so as he strode toward me. He was all golden power and beauty; his righteousness was a force that reduced me to witlessness. If he had pulled my head back, to slit my throat with my own knife, I could not have resisted. I might have cum; quivering with the release of the death he gave me. Whatever he did to me, I would have submitted just as I had that night when he had burned me in the fires of his passion, making love to me until I was sure that he had reworked every cell of me, every atom of my being. I might have fallen to my knees to worship him and begged him to touch me, touch me one more time as he used to do.

I didn't kneel. He didn't kill me except with the fierce hatred where I had seen love. Instead, I walked into the bathroom stood, motionless for a moment. Before any hint of volition returned to me, I exploded back into the room. He did something with the door and, then, I was slammed into the wall. It was cold that wall, so cold. His hands felt hot. They ripped off my jacket and I wanted to protest like a fool as it hit the floor with a metal jingle. I like that jacket; that black, studded and chained garment that enveloped me in an anonymous uniform of toughness. His hands searched and removed another knife. He had taken the things from my pockets and I felt my face burning with shame. He would know by the number of them what I was really doing here to earn money.

His fingers, I used to suck on his fingers, they were always so clean, the nails pretty and rounded from the manicurist. I liked the taste of him. I craved it and made an epicurean banquet of his body, cataloging each variation of Mulder that I found. I'd know his touch in my last dying moment. Hell, listen to me. That is probably the literal truth and the least worst causes of my demise.

His fingers now searched to unbutton my jeans, but someone had been too eager in some previous encounter and the sweat soaked band of my jeans sagged unfastened. Underwear, I had none of that, an unnecessary expense and an encumbrance to the swiftness of my transactions. Yeah, did that sound good? I want to giggle and tell Mulder my thoughts like I used to do. Transactions, like I was a fucking ATM machine!

I still wasn't sure if this was not some bizarre obsessive search on his part. He can be like that. One moment so careless, you have to wonder how he managed to get to his not so ripe old age alive and the next, a cautious man, who calculated every move he made as if playing some angelic game of chess. Well, the rattle of the foil and plastic wrapper informed me. Mulder was going to use me too. My head fell lower between my outstretched arms as he probed between my ass cheeks. He made a disgusted sound and accused me of prostitution. I find myself apologizing as if he had a right still to make demands on me. No matter, he will still lower himself to use this worn and discounted flesh. He pressed money in my hands. It is an American fifty and my hand closes on it in a reflex drawn of the desperate last few weeks.

When I hear his words and logic penetrates my hazy brain, I dropped the bill and watched it spiral down. He enters me and I think he meant it to hurt me physically, but I've been hard used and this pounding is no more then another transgression of my abused flesh. He hurts me anyway. It aches to the core of me to feel his hands on me, to hear the increasing pace of his breaths and to know that it is done in hate. He pulls out, leans against me for one minute. His hands still span my waist and for the moment, his touch is gentle. Just for a few brief seconds, his thumbs make soft circles on my hips. Our shirts have ridden up in his rutting and his bare stomach is against my naked back. Oddly enough, when he pushes away from me, he tugs my shirt down. He makes a sound of disgust. I can't move. I won't let him mock my emotion. I won't let him have that too. He tells me to clean myself. I would if I could, but like Lady Macbeth, all the perfumes of Araby...

Left alone in one of the booths, I wipe the lubricant from my ass. I emerge, dabble the blood off my face and realize that the tightness in my bladder was not only the pain of being kneed. Morbidly, I watch to see if I piss yellow or pink, that's how hard he hit me. It's yellow so I guess it only hurts. Someone has come in now. I look up and it is a woman, standing at the next urinal. My mouth stretches in a stupid embarrassed grin and I ask, "What are you doing..."

Grabbed, thrown against the wall, she holds me there and the strength, the strength is incredible. I am in shock. Her eyes are filled with some unnatural vortex of black. She kisses me and I can't resist. Something moves between my lips. It is like a slow, living vomit of oil, warm from her body, the questing tendrils probe down my throat. I can't breath and my scream is buried in this burning ooze. My entire body feels that itching, painful sensation that comes when your circulation has been cut off and restored, only this is in reverse. The essential part of me retreats further and further inside.

Fuck, Mulder, can't you even tell this isn't me? Obviously not, the creature walks about in my body. Mulder has lain off the violence. We walk onto the plane. The creature does not seem to realize we need food, drink, and sleep. I am dimly aware of these facts, but it doesn't respond to my want. On the plane, Mulder asked me once if I am all right. I fought the creature at that point, trying desperately to tell Mulder what is happening, but it clamps down hard and tells him that it is okay.

We get a rental car to complete the trip. Mulder stops for food and orders a sandwich for me. This sits in my lap, getting cold until he says, "Christ, Krycek, eat something. You look like shit."

The creature finally realizes that the vehicle, me, needs fuel. It eats mechanically. I can't taste anything, but oil. Mulder tells me to drive. That's funny. He never let me drive when we were partners, not even when we were after-hours, two lovers. The thing in me accesses my knowledge and it drives smoothly. Mulder asks for the key to the storage locker where I left the disc. I fight for control again. That disc is my way out, my conduit to some distant isle where I can lay in the sun, attended by my choice of handsome, masterful men. I had planned to spend the rest of my life, screwing, drinking, and thinking of Mulder as some stud fucked me.

The thing makes my hand release the key into Mulder's hand. No, something is wrong. I can sense that it wants something. It wants the disc to trade for something else. Mulder turns the key over in his hand, thoughtfully. He asks, "What does CI mean?"

My voice, not my volition responds, "When we get there..."

I am aware of lights tailing us, but my rider does not listen to me. When I try to tell it that there is danger, it slaps out at me as if I was some petty annoyance, not even a fly, perhaps, a gnat. Mulder reacted a little later and instructs the creature to lose the tail. It has over estimated my body and the skill that it can borrow without giving me any rope. We crash. My head hurts and my chest aches terribly as I lay slumped against the wheel. Men that I know, the smoker's goons, pull me from the wreck. I look behind to see if Mulder is alive. Yeah, I can see the pulse beating in his neck. He's been hit in the head again, that poor tawny covered skull, the guy ought to wear a helmet.

The men drag me out of sight of the road and hit me. The creature doesn't react immediately, but finally it realized that the shell it wears is in danger. It does something. Something rushes out of me and the feeling is incredible, like getting high, an orgasm, and a fever all at once. I want to puke as I see the screaming blackened things that are left, but it doesn't let me. We walk back to Mulder, take the key and calmly get in the other car to drive away. At least, it didn't hurt Mulder, I think. I curl in a corner of my mind and dream of being little Agent Krycek, smart, courageous, and adored by his lover.

My head hurts badly and I sense Krycek being dragged from the car. I can't even get my fingers to twitch and there is no way to stop them. God, I don't want him dead, I realize, I don't know what I want, but if I have to see his vacant eyes, that beautiful face gone blooded and still, I think I'll want to lay right down beside him and die. Something's happened. I see a flash of blinding light and I hear terrible screams. Krycek passes through the dimming veil of my vision and then I am sucked down into blissful darkness.

Waking, I know I am in a hospital. How many times have I woken to the particular muted, oceanic rush of sounds? The travel of carts and the clang of bedpans, voices rising and falling in despair or relief all tell me where I am before I even open my eyes. I can smell Lysol in the air, bleach, but it still can't entirely hide the odor of sickness, blood, feces, and the sweat of fear.

Of course, Scully was there. She always was. You know that part in Star Trek movie where Kirk says he knew he wouldn't die because Spock and McCoy were there? That's me. If I wake up to Scully anxious face, I know that somehow, someway, I will always win out at the end. That's why it terrifies me when she was ill or hurt. She's the rock and I'm the vessel at sea, seeking her anchor against the storm. If she falters, how will I survive? I reached up, there's a bandage on my forehead, of course.

Scully's smile was as rueful as my own. We're in our own version of "Ground Hog Day", playing out this scene again and again. I comment, "Guess I'm not dead."

Scully dismissed my comment with a toss of her head and asked, "What happened?"

I'm a little confused on the details myself and I asked, "Maybe you can tell me."

Scully said, "The State Police found you unconscious. You were strapped in the passenger's seat of a rental car that had been driven into a ditch." She frowns as if she knows what I am going to say. She's very tired. I can see how pale her skin was and there are blue circles of fatigue beneath her eyes. She's still beautiful and nothing can dim the look in her eyes. Her intelligence is lovely to me and that also reflects from her startling blue eyes.

I wince as pain inserts a message into my defective skull. I am sure when I do finally die that I should donate my skull as a jigsaw puzzle for anatomy students. I've been hit on the head that many times. I force the pain to a residual part of my brain where I put all the other ignored messages from my body. I said, "We were run off the road by two men."

Scully's lips form unspoken words swiftly, "Oh, not again." She is trying for patience though and asks, "Who's 'we'?"

I know my eyes drop downward and my lip droops. It's my patented bad little boy expression that never worked on my mother, but often works for Scully and sometimes, even for Skinner. I answered guiltily, "Krycek."

Scully sighs and repeats, "Krycek?" Her tone was that of every family member finding that the addict in the family has again stolen a shot full of heaven into an arm of twisted blue cables and abscesses of needle marks, ending a brief recovery.

I explained, "He was in Hong Kong; he's got the digital tape. He's been selling information." Well, I doubt he actually sold any, but he was offering according to my sources.

Scully nodded, it is so easy for her to accept any wrongdoing I lay at Alex's door. She asked, " Is that what the men wanted?

I remember more now; I even remember that I did not want him to die, or if Krycek was to be killed; it must be at my hands. His life and death are mine as they have always been. I said, "They ordered him out of the car. I thought they were going to kill him. I though they were going to kill us both. And then there was this bright flash. That's all I remember."

Scully nodded and looks if only this hospital bed keeps her from the lecture I deserve. "Well, it may not be the best time to tell you, but you're not the only one in the hospital. Skinner's been shot.'

Skinner, that shakes me. The man's a monolith. I know that is just an illusion caused by his massive, muscled shape and his seemingly confident and decisive air. I have mixed feelings toward Skinner; l sometimes wonder if he is only a hair less corrupted than Krycek. I asked, "What's his condition?"

Scully replied, "A bullet perforated his small intestine. The doctor seems to think he'll be fine."

I felt somewhat chilled and a little ill. I ran a hand over my forehead and stirred restlessly on the bed. I asked, "Who shot him?"

Scully had a folder in her hand and she opened the cover with a brief smile that marks that we are coconspirators. I love Scully the best when she is like this. We are a secret gang of two, huddled in our tree house club and sworn against the faceless adult opponents. This is something she has no real authority to do or have; I'm sure. There are times when Scully will use the attraction she has for certain men, for instance, that sweet, serious, carrot topped boy in the laboratory, to get information she otherwise is not entitled to obtain. Hell, I do the same thing with women and with men who respond in certain ways to the well-concealed messages of availability I send out.

Scully replied, "I'm not sure. But I have an idea." She thumbed through the papers restlessly.

She's waiting for me to ask and I oblige her. "What are those?"

She replied "PCR results" and showed me, underlining the numbers with one red painted nail. She explained, "One belongs to the man who shot Skinner."

I know my role in this demonstration and I held one sheet against the other. I can see how they match and I realized that it must be the same man. I asked, "Yeah, and who's this one belong to?"

Her voice would do well as if she were a judge reading a death sentence and, if I were the man in question; I would fear her. She said, "The man who shot Melissa."

The matches are unmistakable, exact. I feel some little traitorous joy. Krycek was with me when Skinner was shot or at least, he was an ocean away. He was not the one that shot Melissa. There's the question of my father, of course. If I were a good son, I would continue to feel the mindless rage that stormed through me when I succumbed to the drugs in my apartment's water system. I don't though. He was no innocent such as Melissa was. My father was tainted; how tainted I choose not to ponder.

I went home at the doctor's next round, stopping in to see Skinner. Scully was sitting with him, her little fingers moving softly over one massive arm. He looked impossibly strong and healthy in those sheets, even with his face pale and scowling in his sleep over his weakness. Scully shushed me with a finger across her lips and I merely walked over, touched where her hand connected with his, patting them both in the gesture. I don't know what I meant by that, but it seemed the right thing to do.

Much later, I stand in my office staring at the deep-sea diving suit. I had to bribe the maintenance men to cart it in here. My brain had drifted off course and instead of the oil or the alien or Krycek, I am thinking about reruns on Saturday mornings long ago. I used to sneak and watch "Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea", wondering what that funny feeling in my groin was when Admiral Nelson was touching Captain Lee Crane. Someone's at my door. It's Scully, of course, and she enters. I quip, " It looked great on me in the store."

Scully is in an indulgent mood and she spares me a wisp of a smile, before she asked, "What's this doing here?"

Scully is perfect as always, her suit was the kind always described as a timeless business classic. Her makeup was a wonderful illustration of understated elegance. Sometimes I wish that I were Scully. I wanted to wake up each day and paint an expression on my face. I try to hide behind an impassive gaze, but it is never as good as Scully's mask. Scully makes a small, impatient noise. She always knows when I have drifted off on a tangent.

I said, "I had it flown in from San Diego as evidence."

Scully asked, " Evidence of what?" Her face was mostly smooth, but she does this thing with her eyebrows, a faint tilt, when I have annoyed her. I see that expression often.

I said "The suit was covered in a thin film of oil, as was the French diver when I found him lying delirious on his kitchen floor."

Scully said "What kind of oil?"

I said "Well, from the reports I'm getting, it's the same substance that was found on the French diver's wife when she was discovered on the floor of a Hong Kong airport bathroom a few days ago. According to the analysis, it's fifty-weight diesel oil. It's the same oil that was used during World War Two on submarines, and on P-51 Mustangs for that matter."

Scully said, "I don't understand."

I said, "This oil is not only fifty years old, Scully, but its composition has been altered by exposure to radiation."

Scully said, shaking her head as she walks around the suit, "I still don't understand. How did this get onto the diver and then onto the diver's wife?"

I said, "This just wasn't ordinary diesel oil. I think it's, uh... I think it's a medium, a medium being used by some kind of alien creature that uses it to ... body jump." Oh God! I really sounded like a candidate for a visit from the Mental Health Professionals.

Scully said, "So you're saying that this stuff has intelligence?"

Scully had that tone in her voice again, the one that suggested I needed a long vacation and a new medication. She hadn't seen Alex as I had with his face blank and the darkness in his eyes. I told her, "I think that it came off of whatever they pulled from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. It's been waiting fifty years down there for another host, another body to bring it up to the surface."

Scully said "Waiting to jump into the diver and then into the diver's wife?"

I said "And, then, into Krycek."

Scully said "Krycek?" I could see it in her eyes. I never told her about him, yet often I see in her eyes the questions. She knows me. Scully is like my conscience and like Pinocchio, I wish to leave my Jiminy Cricket far behind me at times. Alex was my taste of paradise. His desertion was my exile not to the fires of hell, but to cold Niflheim. I knew Scully wondered and I deserved her scorn, but I tasted the fruit of heaven and since then it had all been cinders. Scully sighed and I wondered what she thought?

I said, "I think that Mrs. Gauthier went to Hong Kong under the control of this thing" I scowled, as Scully laughed at me, and continued, " to find Krycek. I know; I know how it sounds."

Scully said, "Is anybody not looking for Krycek?"

I said "No, but I think that the sixty-four thousand dollar question is what is this thing looking for? And, now that it's in Krycek, what does it want?"

Scully agreed that it was worth a search. She suggested I use my resources outside the department. Her energies at this time were still directed toward finding her sister's killer. Between the two of us, it was a good thing that we were not assigned to any other pressing case. Scully, my dear friend, was as obsessed as I was in this situation.  
  


It was in Rockville, Maryland. It took all of my efforts and those of the Lone Gunmen to narrow down the choices to few enough for us to investigate. We knew we were looking for a public place. Although I believed in Krycek's ability to go anywhere, I think that he would have chosen the path of least resistance. I had a hunch that led us to the Capitol Ice skating rink. Alex had told me that he used to go ice-skating when he was a kid.

Byers and Langly skated around, watching everyone. Frohike joined them on the ice for a momentary conference. Everyone now watched them in wonder, thinking no doubt that it was an undress rehearsal for Snow White. Here was Doc, Sleepy, and Grumpy; the others would appear shortly. Frohike separated from his cohorts. Byers and Langly skated well. I had never got the hang of it, past wild sliding when I was a kid. I was a geek, wrapped up in Star Trek conventions and my dreams of being a magician until track and basketball brought me unexpected social success so I avoided the congenial gatherings at icy ponds and the parties with sanctioned hot chocolate and hidden booze.

Satisfied that they are not observed by anyone but the usual kids and want-to-be figure skaters, Langly and Byers nodded in turn to Frohike. He disappeared for the lockers. The rest of us waited and then, left one at a time. Dustin Hoffman could never have conveyed our degree of paranoia. We met outside in my car or rather the current rented car I put on my own credit card after checking out a bureau car long in advance. I hoped the bugs were merry, listening to the comments of the detailers at the shop where I left it.

Frohike handed the envelope to me with a confident smirk. "Nothing to it.", he bragged.

Byers said, "You should call upon our service more often." He was as always a curiously self contained man, so neat and conventional in appearance that he looks like a businessman held captive by the Cowardly Lion and the Scarecrow, but he's the Tin-man, a true focal for the other two Gun Men.

Langley said, "We show a talent for these G-man activities."

Teasing, I remarked, "You mean, if I want somebody whacked on the neighbor with a lead pipe?"

Frohike's expression was not entirely facetious as he said. "Only if you want the job done right."

I opened the case and it was empty. What had I expected, that's the story of my life. I can't hold onto anything, nothing worthwhile. "It's gone." I mourned.

My friends looked as dismal as I did. Frohike, my loyal gnome, patted my hand. He said, "Let's go back to the Gun-cave and see what we can find in our utility belts, Mulder." I nodded agreement. If anyone could pry up a secret, it's the four of us combined.

I knew this place, his apartment, Cancerman, Mulder called him or the cigarette smoking man as I used to refer to him, was drinking whisky. I knew without looking that it was cheap stuff. Bill Mulder always brought his own liquor if he had to meet socially with Spender. He couldn't stand the lighter fluid that Spender bought. He doesn't have to live this way. He could be as rich as the others. I never knew if this is his penance for his sins or if he lacks the sensitivity to act in any other way. The man was watching an old war movie; yeah, when he got drunk, he told war stories just like any other old man. He put the glass on the cluttered table near him; it narrowly misses the interlaced rings where it has been set before. and reached for his lit cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. I fight the creature for a moment, but it wins and throws the digital tape on that table, among the ashtrays, the glasses, the manuscripts with coffee stained rejection notices curling around rubber bands. He's surprised, standing suddenly and spinning to look at me.

The alien said with my voice, "Where is it?"

CSM smoothes down his air of confidence and takes a puff of his cigarette. That uncaring, fearless contempt is familiar; I've imitated it in mirrors until I think I wear it better than he does. The old man says, "I've been expecting you."

I heard the sounds behind me and tried to spur the alien to protect us. It ignores me. I glance sideways. It's Cardinal, of course, and I hope that the alien does that death ray thing right here. Man, I'd love to see that fucker, Luis, killed. The bastard loved to torture me and he's the one that set me up to take the fall for the fuck-up on Melissa Scully. I might be the rat that Mulder calls me, but there's no vermin low enough to insult it by using its name on Cardinale. I feel the gun barrel on my neck. It's cold and I'm frightened.

The alien ignores it all. This thing has wants. You remember high school biology, learning the characteristics of life? Yeah, takes in nutrients, reproduces, takes in oxygen, excretes, grows, and reacts to stimuli. Well, the oil-alien moves, I think it reproduces although it doesn't understand recreational sex at all. I'm not sure if it needs oxygen, but it if it does, it takes it from the host. I think it takes food from the host. I think I feel it devouring something, not as simple as blood or even nutritional complexes. If it eats, I suppose it excretes although the idea of an alien shitting in my body isn't pretty. It does react to stimuli; it reacts very forcefully. Grows, hmm, I don't know. Whenever my curiosity gets the better of me and I try to tap into it's knowledge, it blasts me with pain that sends me sniveling to a dark corner of my brain, with a mental thumb in my mouth, although sucking Mulder's cock would have made me feel safer yet.

Spender calls Luis off with a sharp, "Put that down." His eyes look at me amused. Yeah, he thinks this is funny. The bastard loved to see me suffer. He would come in to watch me tortured and I bet he saved the tapes in lieu of stroke-books for his lonely late nights. He said, " I have what you want."

The alien would have wagged my tail if I had one. It perked up and I get a mental picture of home. The picture involves a ship of some sort and then some nightmarish world with tastes, colors, sensations that make me queasy. I retreat again while it passively allows the tape to be examined. Inside, I try to scream at it. Don't trust him! Don't ever trust Spender. I tried to open my brain up and show it all the instances where the man betrayed me, Bill Mulder, his wife, and his own son as well as his entire race. It hit me with such a lightening storm of pain that I...whatever part of me is separate from my brain and body faded out in a deep cool unconsciousness.  
  


I gaze at my allies in my perpetual state of half amusement. Frohike wears special glasses, such as given out by swank theaters at periodic attempts to sell three-D movies or maybe it was more like the one I once sent for at age thirteen. That one's advertisement swore I could look through them and see woman's underclothing. They didn't work at all when I had them, but I was too embarrassed to return them. Frohike said, "I've got something here...writing. Somebody wrote on top of the package and left an impression."

I said, "Let me see that."

Byers said, "Your guys at the FBI turned a major serial murderer with a vestigial pen impression." He took a drink at his high protein drink and winced at the flavor of the amino acids. It smelled like a barber's shop and made me want to gag. Byers is a food fanatic and always had one more odd recommendation to add to my diet. Personally, if that makes me live longer, I'd rather not.

I said, " Hand me a pencil."

Langly, our revolutionary waif, said, "Your science-lab-crime guys at the Bureau have a laser there that can measure any change in a surface down to a few nanometers." Langly had a brilliant career in the offing before he went astray, seeking his dharma in the paranoid web of conspiracy theory. He is happy though, a happy paranoiac.

I rubbed the pencil over writing as I listened to the guys rap on about methods to extract the information. They disregard my actions totally as they debate methods, each one trying to outdo the other in dubious techniques and degree of complexity of equipment.

Byers said, "Actually they can lift a perfect impression using magnetic toner and a sheet of Mylar. An electrostatic device is applied to the specimen, and renders the information, by drawing the toner from the indentation to the Mylar surface."

Frohike is almost leaping in his eagerness to one-up Byers who rivals him for leadership of my rocking trio of techno-stooges. He shot in, "Actually..."

I said coolly as I held up the results of my low tech and old-fashioned impression taking, "Actually, it's a phone number, New York City area code 212 and number 555-1012. Now don't drop that," I gave the pencil to Frohike with amusement at his expression, "that's a finely calibrated piece of investigative equipment. I gotta make a phone call."

Frohike said, "I'll be damned." He scratched his head in consternation and I was reminded to anonymously leave dandruff shampoo in the bathroom again as a rain of flakes fell onto his camouflage jacket.

I used a payphone and a device loaned by the Gunmen that should prevent them from tracing even this anonymous location. A smooth voice answered, a sort of maitre de snot of a voice that hardly belonged in a worldwide conspiracy. "Yes? No, this is a private line. You must have misdialed. No, there's no one here to take your call. I'm sorry I can't help you."

I could sense power approaching. The man's voice held it's own version of oil. He paused and the man I called the Well-Manicured Man took over the phone, "Who is this?"

I said, "Who is this?"

The cultured, smooth, familiar voice, replied, " Who gave you this number?

I said, "You probably know. A man named Krycek."

My verbal sparring partner said, "Alex Krycek?"

I said "Yeah, nice guy, killed my father, you wouldn't happen to know where he is, do you?"

The Well-Manicured Man said, "It's Mr. Mulder, isn't it?" His voice was good old boy fraternal...oh, didn't I go to school with your father not, 'didn't I order your father's execution'.

I said, "It's so nice of you to remember." The sarcasm dripped like acid saliva from the alien creature about to bite Sigourney Weaver.

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Mr. Mulder, can we meet somewhere?

I said, "I would love to." In truth, I had little interest in finding Krycek, or at least not to kill him. I could have done that anywhere on that long road to Maryland or even marched him in his passive state from that airport and executed him in private as if it were the ultimate sexual act. The truth was, I doubt, that I would ever kill Alex. I still harbor feelings for the fucker; yeah, I still love him as much as I hate him.

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Give your phone number to my assistant, he will call you back in five minutes." I heard his voice away from the phone, say, "Tell him I'll meet him in three hours in Central Park, near the lighted walkway off seventy-ninth, near the reservoir." His voice dropped even lower as he instructed, " When you hang up, have this number disconnected."

I actually wasn't as big a fool as I sometimes act. I engaged my un-indicted coconspirators as we refer to ourselves when our ventures become blacker than gray to watch and to act if this became an assassination attempt.

The Well-Manicured Man said, "I trust we're all alone."

This one looks like a broker or a member of the house of parliament. He is always elegant. You can't imagine a scuff on his Italian leather shoes or a thread loose on his Harris Tweed. His nails have probably never seen dirt for more then a few seconds and a callous would be as alien upon that hand as tentacles. He had pale blue eyes, silver-white hair...I imagine him as having been born with that distinguished mane, and a nose as imperious as an eagle's. He is the result of hundreds of years of breeding; a flare of his aristocratic nose is as natural as his ability to command. Yeah, he's a son of a bitch of the type that sent thousands to their death through history and never even got their hangnails torn.

I said, wearing my Oxford manners and lying as easily as I had done then, "We're all alone in New York City, sir."

The Well-Manicured Man said. "You're looking for Alex Krycek, to kill him, in revenge. What makes you think we haven't done that already?

I said "What for?" I eyed his calm face. He's smooth and elegant, but he and Spender have the same lying expression in their eyes.

The Well-Manicured Man said, " Tell me what you know and I'll consider giving you Krycek."

We both listened to the distant sounds of the city. He had chosen this spot to create a buffer zone. The discordant sounds of the park, booming CD players, children wailing, the blast of car horns and the constant oceanic murmur of pigeons would make it more difficult to get an adequate recording for surveillance. I don't doubt that the gunmen could do it though. They were as happy as kids on a field trip, packing more illegal spying equipment then Linda Tripp on a double date.

I said. "No, you'll answer a few questions for me first, like what was pulled off the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."

The Well-Manicured Man said, "It was a UFO, a so-called foo-fighter, downed by American fighter pilots in the Second World War."

I asked, "Left out there until now?"

The Well-Manicured Man's pale eyes studied me. He doesn't want to offer me one more scrap then he thinks I already know or have guessed, but he doesn't know how much I know. He perhaps wondered how much Krycek told me before I lost him. Finally, he twiddled with his umbrella and stared for a while at an interested pigeon before answering. He shooed the creature away with a disgusted moue of his aristocratic mouth and said, "There were salvage attempts. A United States submarine was sent in fifty years ago, but there were complications."

Complications, I was sure that was how he referred to most of the deaths that he ordered. I wondered who was higher in the conspiracy, the man of ashes or this semblance of gentility? I said, "Almost the entire crew died."

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Yes, it's still a mystery."

I replied, "A mystery to whom?"

The Well-Manicured Man said, "The cover story said it was the third A-bomb bound to Japan, but the truth is, no one knows what killed that crew."

I said, "I know." I stared at him, hoping to make him drop his gaze, but he merely stared back undaunted.

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Do you now?" His eyes wrinkle in amusement and his mouth twitches upwards at one corner. He strikes a pose and I look about to see if Emma Peel was around.

I said, "You give me Krycek and I will tell you."

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Mr. Mulder, I've given you so much this evening, you offered me next to nothing in return."

I replied, "You haven't told me anything I didn't already know."

The Well-Manicured Man said, "I'm curious, if you've encountered Krycek, why didn't you kill him then?"

I lied, "because he has the tape." I stared hard at the man; one thing that I was never sure about was how much Alex had told them about us. Sometimes I think he covered up our whole affair. It was hard for me to believe that they hadn't tried to use it before now if that wasn't true.

The Well-Manicured Man said. "Ahh.. Yes, the tape." He smiles. His mouth was thin and nearly colorless, almost a skeletal mouth it seemed to me.

I said, "The tape he's been selling those secrets off." I am watching closely. This is a chess match or perhaps a duel. You watch the eyes for reaction and I caught a flicker of a white eyelash, an almost invisible tightening around his deeply pouched eyes. I pounced on that little show of weakness and said, "You don't know where he is either; do you?" You're looking for him, too.

The Well-Manicured Man said, "Mr. Mulder, everyone can be gotten to. Certainly, you've no doubt of that. Mr. Mulder?"

I took the match by walking away, leaving him to call after me. As soon as I was a safe distance away, a thought struck me. For some reason, they seemed reluctant to kill me, but Scully and Skinner were vulnerable. Scully had said she would be watching over Skinner, but I knew, she, unlike me, never parted with her cell phone. I opened mine, safe in my pocket for once and called her. I said, "Scully, it's me. The two guards you had posted in front of Skinner's room, are they still there?"

Scully sounded very tired as she said, "They should be, why?

I replied, "I want you to get down there and double check for me, okay?"

Her voice was crisp and alert. I could tell that she was already up and moving. Scully said, "I got it covered, Mulder."

I said, " Just get down there and check, okay?"

I had dismissed my gunmen and started for home by the time she called me back. Her cell phone was turned off or busy every time I tried. I'm afraid for her, for Skinner and, naturally, two fools try to violate the law about two solid objects sharing the same space. In this case, the experiment failed right in front of me. Although I threw the cell phone down, I couldn't stop in time. The airbag rises around me as I hit the bumper of one of the idiots. He jumps out, a huge man, with tattoos on his hands. As he yells and cusses, I ponder the gun in my holster wistfully. An exhausted and bored looking state patrolman showed up before I had to resort to violence. The third driver is locked in her car, staring wide-eyed at the maniac who hit her. Every other witness has fled so of course, I am left to try to explain what happened. Every word initiates another round of colorful invective until I want to whip out my notebook to take admiring notes. The State Patrolman is not amused.

After the winner of the Bluto look-alike contest is carted away, I crawled about to find my rental agreement. It would be nobler to believe this is a consortium-arranged coincidence, but even I can't stretch my imagination to believe that. As I spot the recalcitrant sheaf of papers, the phone rings. I answered, "Yeah, Mulder."

Scully's voice replied," Mulder, it's me, where are you?"

I said, "At the airport in New York."

Scully asked, "What are you doing?"

I said, "I'm looking for my rental car agreement."

Scully said, "What are you doing in New York?"

I said, "I'll tell you when I see you."

Scully said, "Mulder, your instincts were right about Skinner. We've just arrested a man for what looks like attempted murder."

"Who?" I asked.

Scully replied, "It's him, Mulder, the man who shot my sister." Her voice held a calm triumph. I sometimes think Scully is more dangerous than I am. She certainly has no problem taking action when she is sure of her righteousness.

I said, "Scully..."

Scully said, " Mulder, listen to me, he said he knows where Krycek is. I don't know if this makes any sense to you, he says he's headed towards an abandoned missile site somewhere in North Dakota."

I said, "I want you to meet me at the DC airport in an hour, I want you to get two tickets on the first flight for North Dakota."

Scully said, "What's in North Dakota?"

I said "The salvaged UFO..."  
  


The state of North Dakota is huge and under populated. It's cold, with a bleak landscape consisting of upheavals of glacier-wrought ravages punctuating flat acres of winter wheat and barley, both now mere pale stubble on the ground. The wind blew mercilessly, buffeting the car. Farm equipment still lumbered like mechanical dinosaurs, slowing the traffic to a crawl every few miles. The highways were all line with irrigation ditches and, God knows, what people did if they had to change a tire. We hit number fifty tumbleweed within fifteen minutes of the airport. It rolled up and over the car as if desperate to hitch a ride somewhere warmer.

Finally, silos jutted from the flat landscape in the distance. The gate was padlocked, of course, but we had brought the proper equipment. We entered, feeling like at least in my case if we had entered a Twilight Zone episode. The base seemed oddly transitory in its abandoned state. It was if there had been only a temporary evacuation and I half thought if I entered the cafeteria that I would find plates with half eaten food, perhaps a single overturned cup to testify to panic, a Mary Celeste like scene.

I gazed about letting my brain take in details that might subconsciously lead to a solution. There is any number of silos as if this place was a residence of giant ants that lived in these cylindrical heaps.

Scully said, "There must be two hundred silos out here. If I'm correct they were all filled with concrete in accord with the disarmament treaty when the base was decommissioned."

I said, "I didn't sign any disarmament treaty."

We drew our guns and entered the first silo; finding that the door's lock has been broken. It was dark and very cold. The oppression of the tons of earth pressing above us seemed a palpable force.

Scully said, "My ears are still popping.

I said, "We're eight stories down." There sure and hell was no concrete in this silo.

Scully still believed most of the lies and sounded shocked as she asked, "Where's the concrete?"

I said, "Apparently, nobody else signed that treaty, either."

Scully said, "One down, one hundred and ninety-nine silos to go."

I felt an overwhelming urge to sing that kid's naughty song about bottles of beers, substituting silos for each dismal verse. Fortunately, I remembered that Scully was armed and had shot me for less cause in the past. I shivered, wishing I had worn the silk thermal underwear that Scully suggested.

I said, "These tunnels must go on for miles." I heard a noise and we switched on our flashlights. The light hit men with flash burned faces. I gagged despite my long exposure to sights more pathetic. Regaining control, I announced grimly, "He's here."

I heard running, the heavy jangling beat of armed men. An authoritative voice called, "Hold it right there! Hold!"

We ran at top speed, turning and twisting in the maze of dark passages. What a rat hole Krycek had found in this although I wasn't sure if any part of his consciousness remained with the alien running his body.

One turn too many and we ran into a group of ready armored and armed men. Scully and I looked at each other in defeat as an officer shouted, "Hands in the air!" The man waved for us to walk. He shouted, "Come on! Come on!" I thought I heard fear in his voice only partially hidden by his command.

Fuck, this close and now we're caught! The men, of course, answer no questions. We're searched thoroughly and our guns are taken away. They march us away from a red marked door. I think I hear faint pounding and perhaps the mere echo of a scream. I looked back and one of the men pushes me onward. I want so badly to push back, but my concern for Scully kept me reasonable.

The Cancerman is out there. He is smoking, of course, that twitch of an evil smile on those deeply seamed lips surrounds the burning coal of light from his cigarette. I said, "He's here. You led him here, didn't you?"

Cigarette-Smoking Man said, "There's nothing here but holes in the ground, Mr. Mulder."

I said, pointing at the armed men, the canvas covered military moving truck, and the silo, "Why are you here? Why all these men?"

The Cigarette-Smoking Man said, "I don't know why I should answer. You owe me answers."

I replied, "The UFO's here. That's what Krycek's after, isn't it?"

The Cigarette-Smoking Man said, "Krycek? Alex Krycek disappeared five months ago." He smiles again as a twist of smoke curled upward like brimstone from his mouth. His pale-colored eyes followed the smoke until it dissipated.

Scully shouted, "We saw bodies in there!" as she's dragged away. "Men with radiation burns!"

The Cigarette-Smoking Man replied, apparently believing mind control was among his powers, "You saw nothing." He pauses one moment, threw down his cigarette and ground it under his heel.

I said, "You won't get away with this. You can't bury the truth." It's a pathetic lie. They bury the men who attempt to tell the truth. Krycek tried to sell the truth and I know that he, alive or dead, is below us deep in that frozen ground.

Scully and I were loaded in a blue van. No one questions us or answers out questions. We are held in a cell for twenty-four hours and are then escorted to the airport and escorted to an airplane to fly home. As we left the ground, Scully looks down and asks, "Do you think he was in there?"

I nod and I also looked down, thinking of him, my lover, my enemy. My thoughts are with him although I try and forget. I don't think I will though. I can't forget Alex Krycek.  
  


I sighed as I worked on my notes from another case. I scowled through my glasses and shoved the paper away as I heard a knock. Visitors here meant the worst to me and I drawled, "Yeah?" in my sulkiest voice.

I was wrong, I hoped. It was Walter Skinner, still leaning upon a cane, but looking better then I had seen him last.

Skinner said, "Agent Mulder?"

I stood to shake his hand and then, remarked, "Sir, I didn't expect you back to work for a few weeks."

Skinner said, looking about as if I might have hidden her or a group of aliens, " I was looking for Agent Scully, there was something I wanted to talk to her about." I helped him to a chair, surprised that he accepted the assistance. He sat as if relieved to leave the precarious balance of his stand. He said, "Thank you."

I almost blushed as I said, "Actually I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to thank you for everything you did."

Skinner snorted and said, "You mean getting a shot in the gut?"

I said, "You got a shot because you stood up to these people."

Skinner shook his head. The man was so powerful; his shoulders were those of a bull. His massive neck was corded with muscle. His hands were brutal things and I remembered that I had felt them once, when I was maddened from the drugs the conspiracy put in my water. At that thought, I almost laughed. Didn't I sound like a mad doomsayer, afraid of poisons from my tap?

Skinner said, " I think you're perceiving from a mistaken impression, what I did, I did it because it's my job."

I wanted to give him back something; he had been here for Scully whom I loved in my own fashion, just not the way that might have seen natural to the majority. I told Skinner, "From what I understand, you put your job and your life on the line for Scully."

Skinner's voice had a rougher edge than he normally allowed, He said, " This isn't my crusade, Agent Mulder. A woman was murdered. I mistakenly thought that we could bring the man who committed that crime to justice."

My first thought was that he had found some evidence that proved Krycek killed Melissa Scully not Luis Cardinale, I asked, "What do you mean mistakenly?"

Skinner polished his glasses from a packet of small blue tissues, he said, " This is what I need to talk to Scully about." He sighed and then said, "You can tell her. Luis Cardinale was found dead in his cell this morning, an apparent suicide."

I knew about Cardinale, of course. I knew he was a graduate of the school for terrorists, the School of the Americas-that blot on the much-sullied record of America's intelligence forces. Cardinale was a monster before he walked in that door. An aficionado of enemies pushed out of planes, of screaming rape victims, and vanished children. I knew he had tried to shoot Skinner and that Scully had shot him. I knew he claimed that Krycek had the answers to Melissa's death, but I also knew he was an evil and desperate man.

Skinner said, "I meant to meet with Cardinale soon, to attempt to cut a deal. He wanted to talk. I think he was a man who wanted to live. However, he was found hung in his cell and the coroners' verdict is suicide."

I nodded, thinking that if Krycek were ever caught, that would be his end as well. Scully had gone out, personal leave she said at the receptionists desk. I also checked out for the day, stopping at a florists shop before I drove to the cemetery. I knew that she would be here; she was a childlike figure in the distance. I had bought flowers too, not roses, violets, I remembered she like posies not more formal arrangements. The tombstone seemed as new as when it was erected, the inscription said, Melissa Scully, beloved sister and daughter, 1962-1995.  
  
  


Scully looked up as if she had expected him. She said, "I was just thinking about something that a man said to me. That the... that the dead speak to us from beyond the grave, that that what's conscience is.

Softly, I replied, "It's interesting. I never thought of it that way."

Scully shook her head and said, "You know I thought; when we found him, this man that killed Melissa, that...that when we brought him to justice, I would feel some kind of closure. But the truth is no court. No punishment is ever enough.

I followed her as she walked away, her short legs powerful and certain as ever. He said, "I came here to tell you something. There may be some justice, just not the kind you're looking for."

Scully paused to ask, " What are you talking about?"

I responded, "They found this man, Luis Cardinal, dead in his cell."

Scully didn't even blink, She asked, "How?"

I repressed my thoughts and said, "They made it look like a suicide. The men he worked for couldn't take the chance that he would point his finger at them."

Scully sighed and asked, " And what about Krycek?"

I looked closely to see if her question was as simple as it seemed and made my voice sound casual, as I replied, "Oh, he was there. I know that."

Scully said, "You think they got to him, too."

I replied, "I don't know, but if they haven't, they will. I doubt it'll weigh on their consciences, though."

Scully's face softened and she glanced back at her sister's grave, she said, "I think the dead are speaking to us, Mulder, demanding justice. Maybe that man was right. Maybe we bury the dead alive."

I nodded and waited for a moment. She glance up at me and then back to the grave. I'd almost forgotten the flowers and now I laid them down. Melissa Scully had been a woman who stood by her beliefs. If her killer had lived to be sentenced, she would have been the first to shout against the execution. She would have been the first to tell me not to deny my love, but she was dead and her voice was solely a wistful trick of my longing brain. As I walk back to my car, my thoughts burden me. I believe I would know if he was dead and I feel in my heart that I will see him again. Scully rises at last, wiping away a tear and she takes a few rapid steps to walk by my side. We pause, look at each other, and take each other's hand. We're alone together as always.

Hours, days, an eternity in this hell, my hands were bloody now. I had scraped my nails raw, splintered them. My screams were harsh whispers as I still pleaded, "Help!" I know I am doomed and I sob. Tears run down my face and I stop my screaming to capture them with my tongue. They taste of salt and oil. It burns my raw lips and I gag again at the hated taste.

I heard his voice. I'm sure that I heard Mulder. My ass is still raw from that rape in the bathroom. I can feel the bruises of his fists. With the last whisper, I can force from my scorched throat, I scream, "Mulder, Mulder...."

I hear the smoking man's voice fading and I hear laughter. Does Mulder laugh with him as he walks away?

And now, there is nothing, but my screams, and the blood on my fists as I pound, and I pound, and I scream, and I pound...

I awake, tumbling from the couch, clawing at the coffee table and the floor as if they confined me. My throat is raw with screaming. I know I dreamt of Alex. I know he is alone, somewhere cold and dark. And I know in my heart, it's not over yet. It's not over...

The end  
  


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* * *

 

Title: No Justice V: Fortunatos Nimium  
Author/pseudonym: Ursula  
Fandom: X-Files   
Pairing: Mulder and Krycek  
Rating: NC-17  
Status: New  
Archive: Anywhere as a complete story  
E-mail address for feedback: or   
Series/Sequel: Is this story part of a series: No Justice  
Other websites: My page at RATB, thanks to Ned & Leny: http://www.squidge.org/terma/ursula/ursula.htm  
Disclaimers: Walter Skinner, Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder belong to the X Files, Chris Carter, and the actors who created them. But I can drool and wish, can't I?  
Notes: Last Story in the series  
Dedication: To The Theban Band, whose creations delight the eyes, inspire the keyboard, make us laugh, cry, and add a little fire to our veins.   
Thank you, to Dr. Ruthless for a speedy beta and some verbal-tension.

* * *

He saved me. After all and everything, it was he. 

I could find no peace in my heart, no rest for my body in my apartment. The walls closed in around me. I went to the little Russian teahouse on Fifth Street. I wasn't looking for him. I didn't want him. Sprawled in my chair, I listened to the voices around me. I cataloged a cheekbone here, exquisite and sharp, as elegant as a blade. His lips were incongruous framed by a heavy mustache and beard. His eyes...well, there was no one who had his eyes, not even the gypsy with his violin whose lashes were an ebony spill around the dark tapestry of his eyes.

Clutching a sack of cookies in my hand, I stumbled out. I wasn't looking and he wasn't there.

In my dark captivity, in my throne of sorrow and pain, he had arrived surrounded by a nimbus of flame as if he had burst from hell or held the fiery sword of an avenging angel. There was soot against the marble of his face; his eyes glowed like a cat in the dark. A flame-thrower cradled in his arm, Alex burst in and immediately turned his weapon on my companion, the creature that tormented me. My eyes widened in joy to see it dance...the flames shooting so prettily from the oily flesh. 

I thought I was dreaming as Alex bent over me, uttering soothing words, calling me 'beloved'. My hands twitched, wanting to reach for him, as memory betrayed me. The fire burning in the background, illuminating his features so his pale, almost translucent skin seemed to radiate light. He was beautiful, so beautiful and I wanted to kiss him, to bury my face in his silken hair. 

The pronged restraints eased from my flesh. He knelt between my legs, which were still obscenely spread. Tears glistened on his cheeks when he glanced up at me. "I'll take you back to her. I promise. Just don't die, Mulder, please hang on."

Her? Oh, Scully, I had almost forgotten telling Krycek that she was my lover, a twist of the knife I could not resist. When he freed me, I realized that I had forgotten how to walk. My legs buckled and I started to fall. He caught me. I held on to him, one hand gripping the prosthesis that reminded me of the bitter torment of that trip to Russia. His breaths sounded as if he was running, but we were barely moving. It was hot and smoke swirled around us to the point where it was impossible to see. 

I should have told him to let me go. I knew he was risking his life. Yet, selfishly I clung to him, struggling to hold up my weight, although it hurt, and I was weak. He had to drag me out of there, both of us coughing and choking, reeling dizzily as we staggered from the ship. 

Strong hands caught me...Walter's hands. I nestled into his broad chest like a child. Carried away by Skinner, Scully hovering over me, I guess I didn't even consider what happened to Alex. 

When I woke up at the hospital, I thought that it had been a dream. Walter and Scully were there, looking concerned and yet somehow happy. I was swathed in bandages, an oxygen tube taped near my nose. My chest felt sore and my mouth felt so dry that when I moved my tongue to speak, it stuck to my gums.

It felt strange to be between sheets and lying down. It seemed as if I had spent a lifetime in that lab, a pinned butterfly beating its wings for the edification of captors who did not even have the grace to kill me before making me a specimen.

"Thirsty." I said.

Scully checked my chart. That was my Scully, brave, loving, but so precise. Walter slid an ice chip in my mouth and smiled at me. I said, "I have to thank you for getting me out of there."

Smiles faded. They looked at each other with guilty expressions. What?

"We didn't exactly get you out." Scully said. "We would have, but Krycek said it was better that he go alone." Her hand rested on her gently rounded stomach. She said, "I had to worry about the baby and Walter had sprained his ankle."

So it wasn't a dream. I asked, "Where is he?"

Scully said, "I don't know. We were in such a hurry to get out of there."

Perhaps more insightful than most people thought, Walter said, "He got out. I made sure that he was in motion before we left. He's a survivor, Mulder. He's okay."

*** There were riots in the streets. It was a real life equivalent to the panic seen during the broadcast of War of the Worlds. I could be certain that it was the last of them, of both the aliens and the Consortium. 

No one cleaned up and hid the evidence. I had to be moved to a special ward in the military hospital that served the president and high level Intelligence people. Everyone wanted an interview with Fox Mulder, the man who brought down the alien invasion single-handedly.

Right. Somewhere Krycek must have been laughing. Marita, Krycek, and my lost ally with the fastidious habits and the hundred dollar manicures had gone through the back door and counted coup. I only buzzed in their faces until they swatted me.

I turned down most of the interviews, directed some to the Gunmen who were becoming folk heroes. Eventually, my 'seven-day wonder' status went away. 

By the time, the doctors thought I was well enough to go home, only the UFO magazines were interested in me. The rest of them went back to chewing their cud, the narrow escape from slaughter a footnote in their lives. ***

The disability leave surprised Scully and Skinner. Oh, they drew it up and presented it to me, obviously expecting argument. It was almost amusing to watch them as I said, "That's a good idea. I'm not really ready to go back yet. Doggett's taking care of you all right, Scully?"

"I'm fine, Mulder." She said, and for once, I think she really meant it. I stood up, still stiff and constrained from the healing wounds. Hobbling over, I leaned down to cup her cheek. She smelled good as always even if she's been working in the lab and I caught the faint whiff of some chemical beneath the perfume. I kissed her tenderly and smiled.

Standing on tiptoe, she returned the kiss. She was beautiful, clearly showing now, and her face was rounded, softened with the sheen of contentment. "Call me when you're done with the appointment. I want to know if they can finally see if it's a boy or a girl."

It's a normal pregnancy. At least the fetus is human, and Scully's ovaries have been restored. Who knows what the Smoker had in mind? I'm not the father. Jeff is or was...or whatever you would call it when his sperm was used to inseminate her. Guess Spender had a sentimental urge to have a grandchild from his legitimate son. Scully says she doesn't mind. Poor Jeff...she says, in the end, he made the right choice and paid a terrible price. So the child will be my half nephew or niece. I've accepted that now. Accepted that Spender gave me up to the aliens, his first born son. It was very much the dramatic gesture, but then he expected to be rewarded. The alien healer could have given him back his life. 

But The Smoker is dead. Alex killed him. I considered as I looked at Walter, who appeared to intend to stay, that Alex killed both of my fathers. In a way, Spender's death balances William Mulder's, although both of them were tainted. As history will be written, they were collaborators in a planned holocaust that would have consumed every human on earth.

Feeling cold, I covered myself with a quilt. I often felt chilly after my abduction. There was no reason for it. Other than the scars, I'm healthier now than before I was taken. Yet I shivered, wishing for the warmth of another body at night; I know I could have had one, Walter even, but I knew for whom I longed and I couldn't do that to Skinner. I loved him, but there was a dark frozen spot in my soul that only Alex could fill. 

Walter stared at me, as I lay there wrapped in my own empty arms. "Mulder, are the doctors sure that the aliens didn't do something to you?" 

"I'm okay." I replied. I studied his face, not a beautiful face like Alex's, but it's strong, interesting, and his eyes are really lovely, so warm and brown. He took off his glasses, polishing them. "Have you seen him," I asked?

Games are something Walter can play, and he can be as devious as Alex is when he chooses. Actually, he's better at it than I am. He doesn't get caught. He didn't pretend not to understand me now. He replied, "Yes, we had unfinished business. I still had those things in my body. Remember that day I didn't visit?" At my nod, he concluded, "I was sweating out the nanocytes in the critical ward. It wasn't fun, but I feel as if he gave my life back. We're even now."

"Just because of that? He did it to you." I replied. I closed my eyes, visions of my lover red as blood playing against my closed lids.

"You know better." Walter's voice, so flat in those meetings, grows deep and rough in his anger. Maybe that's why I so frequently enrage him...just to hear the passion rise. "He brought you back, Mulder, and, hard as it is for me to admit, he's the one that brought them down."

I opened my eyes again, considering him. Could I? Should I? But he was standing up, gathering up his coat. "Walter, you wanted him when I had him. I saw the way you looked at him."

"I looked at you both, Mulder. You were beautiful together." Walter admitted.

"If it was you, if you could take him back, would you?" I asked, leaning up on one elbow and gazing into his compassionate eyes. 

"In a heartbeat, Mulder, in a heartbeat." Walter said. He closed the distance between us, leaned down and kissed my forehead. "You're alive, Mulder, about time you started to act it."

Damn, the man had hidden depths. I watched him leave. The only problem was, I had no idea how to find Alex.

A few moments later, someone was at the door. I said, "Walter, I didn't lock it. It's open."

A husky voice answered, "It's Krycek."

The blanket fell around my feet. I almost fell in my hurry to get to the door. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It pulsed at my temples. I didn't know what I wanted to do, hit him? Kiss him? 

"Mulder, this is heavy," he said. His voice was soft as it used to be. 

Slowly, I opened the door. He was wearing a suit, an expensive one, soft woolen cloth draped becomingly over his lean body. His hair was shining; while I was gone, he must have let it grow. I stood looking at him instead of inviting him in or sending him away. He was carrying a box. It must have been heavy as he was perspiring and he kept readjusting the weight. 

Finally, I reached forward and took it, asking, "Is this for me?"

A quick motion of his head, a narrowing of his eyes, and an upward jerk of his chin swallowed the sarcastic reply that question deserved. 

The threshold stopped him as surely as if he was Count Dracula come to call. Half bowing, I said, "Come in, Alex."

He flinched as if I had hit him. It had been a long time since I had said his first name. Why in the hell did he have to give me those keys? Couldn't he have refused? Made an excuse. Why didn't you lie to me, Alex, lie to me beautifully and make it all a bitter dream.

His head bowed. He was suddenly shy and tongue-tied. I put the box on my desk. Opening it, I saw files, computer discs, and a small metal box. I opened the box first and winced as I saw Sam's necklace, the one she'd been wearing when she disappeared. 

"Spender kept these." Alex said. "There's some pictures. Sam and Jeff mostly. The rest of it is her file from the experiments. I marked the ones that I would rather not see if it was my sister, but I gave them all to you. I didn't want to hold anything back. The pictures I thought you would want to see are on top. She looked as if she was happy in a few of them."

My hands shook. I opened the album and paged through it. She and Jeff seemed allies, conspiring against the adult world. I wondered if he had ever known who the girl was. What did he think? Did he miss her as much as I did when she ran away? The tears fell down my cheeks, blinding me.

"I can call Scully or Skinner." Alex said.

"No, don't." I said, "I'll make some tea. Stay awhile. Your cookies are on the counter in the kitchen. I just bought them."

"Yeah, I saw you." Alex replied. 

"You hid?" I said. 

"I wasn't in the mood for a scene. I didn't know you still went there. I haven't seen you there since we..." Alex stopped his sentence unfinished. His eyelashes shaded downward.

"Used to go there together?" I finished. I smirked, enjoying Alex's discomfort. Absently, I added, "I was in the mood for your Russian kisses."

The quickly suppressed smile alerted me to my unintentionally spoken truth. I laughed softly and said, "The cookies, Alex." And then examining the beautiful face, I added, "for a start anyway."

For once, Alex didn't want to play games. He looked away and then said, "I'm trying to clean up some loose ends. Make amends." He shifted his weight, cupped his left arm briefly. I wondered if it hurt?

"I should go." Alex said. He took a step toward the door. I grabbed him and he shrank back distrustfully. "Please, Mulder, I'm tired. Don't start anything."

"I just want you to stay. I need someone to talk to." I said, "I'll make tea. Set the cookies out. Plates are the same place as always."

The pain in his expression was so raw I could barely stand to look at it. I suppose he didn't know how much it would hurt being here. Giving him a moment, I fell into the familiar movements, preparing the kettle, thinking of other times, other places. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach for a plate, arrange a paper towel over it, and lay the cookies out precisely. He couldn't resist taking one. The powdered sugar was on his fingers and his tongue flicked out without thinking to taste it. Turning, I took his hand, capturing the sweetness with my tongue. He stiffened, staring at me, waiting to be hit, I suppose.

Instead, I uncurled his fingers from the fist that he'd formed and kiss his palm. "Mulder?" he said, questioningly. 

"I want..." I choked on the words until I hear Walter saying, "In a heartbeat." His courage was mine and I said, "Alex, I really want to try again."

Alex carried the plate across the room, cleared a space on the coffee table for it. He sat, both hands, real and artificial, dangling between his legs. His brow was furled, and his lips were a tight line. "I did what I did. Sometimes because I had to. Other times because I wanted to do it. I can't give you what you want, Mulder. He's dead. I killed him, your lover."

It took me a minute to realize he was speaking about himself. I walked over, lifted his chin, and studied his face. Age has refined him. The eyes have changed the least. They are still more like jade than eyes should possibly be, dark, variegated in their greenness. Small rays of wrinkles radiate from his eyes, certainly not laugh lines. Pain, I think, and reaction from gazing too long into the sun. His bone structure is no longer hidden by the last remnants of youth. He is like the square root of beauty, nothing but the essential left.

"Funny, I see him here." I replied. "Tell me you never loved me, Alex. Tell me that it was always a game."

His silence was his answer. I could see him struggle to get the lie out, but he couldn't do it. He stared straight ahead, waiting for me to flay him and rub salt in the wounds. I knelt, took his hands in mine, and the kettle whistled madly.

After a moment, Alex stated, "It will boil dry, Mulder."

"Damn," I remarked. "I have to do something about my timing."

That gained me a flickering smile. I quickly heated the cups, trying anxiously to get it exactly the way he liked. I carefully set the tray down in front of him, watching the wisps of steam creep up. He picked up the cup, drank, and said, "It's good, Mulder."

His voice always affected me. It feels like someone brushed over my naked cock with a velvet cloth. Even when I hated him, I wanted him. I poured myself a cup just to have something to do. My hand was shaking, ridiculous, but it was. The dark amber fluid sloshed in the Wedgwood cup.

Leaning forward, he put down his tea to steady my hand. "Are you all right? They said that you weren't sick any longer."

His hand was warm on mine. I put the cup down, slid my fingers upward along his arm until it gravitated to his chest. I whispered, "Take your tie off, Agent Krycek. Get comfortable. 

Alex hesitated so long that I feared he would not do it and still meant to leave. Finally he arched his neck and said, "Get the knot for me."

My knee knocked into the table, nearly spilling the tea. I frowned at my clumsiness and hurried to unbind him. The ends were in my hands and we were so close. He stared at me with his mesmerizing eyes. "May I kiss you?" I asked as I drew the silk of the tie from the silk of his flesh.

His right hand drew me near. His lips were softly open. He waited for me to close the distance and I did. I felt his sharp intake of breath when our lips met. His mouth was sweet from chocolate and sugar. His eyelashes brushed my face. They were wet. I could feel his tears on my face. I held him until he finally moved back. 

"I want you to make love to me, Mulder." He stated.

Yes, it's what I wanted also. I unbuttoned his shirt and undid his trousers. All I was wearing was a tee shirt and a pair of loose fitting sweats. It took but a moment before I'm naked too. Our hands explored each other, as we both breathed faster until we were both near to gasping. 

I backed off a little and said, "Scully and Skinner cleaned my bedroom. They thought that I should sleep in a real bed."

Somehow I thought he knew that I hadn't ever slept in that bed since he left. The waterbed has been exchanged for a comfortable, king-sized model that takes up almost the whole room. He held his hand out to me and I pulled him to his feet, bringing him to clasp against me. He fit me. So many scars on us now and we were both older, but the years fell away and with them, the pain. 

It was with simple joy that we walked to that bed. I drew back the covers and we tumbled together. There's nothing to say about his arm. It's gone. I knew how he felt. Losing Alex was like having my soul amputated. Even my hatred could not cauterize the bleeding wound of my loss. But now, my world narrowed to his skin, his eyes, his mouth, and the urgent happy sounds he made as I devoured him. His pupils darkened to fill his eyes. He was lost in a sensual dream, with me, yet also deeply lost in his pleasure. 

His legs surrounded my waist without warning. He guided my hand lower, looking at me through the shadows of his lashes. I groaned, concentrating on holding back enough to give him his desire. He was tight, accepting me, even hurrying me as I gently prepared him, but it had been a while. I didn't know what that meant at first. 

"Since Hong Kong, Mulder, only you...no other men. Even when they said it didn't matter about my arm and told me I was beautiful. After you, how could there be another?" Alex told me.

We were joined. My hands explored where our bodies connected. So wonderful. How could I have forgotten this? I wanted it slow. I wanted it fast. Mostly I wished we could stay like this, pleasure so intense that it hovered on the edge of pain. We rocked together. Even beneath me, he set the rhythm. I leaned down to kiss him and he threw his arm around my neck. We kissed until the building pressure drove our mouths apart. He takes me away from myself as no one else could ever do. Moaning, eyes only open to slits, he was wild and beautiful as he approached release. I knew I wanted to go with him, to come together. My muscles tensed and relaxed, quicker and harder, driving into him. He gasps, but his legs clasped around me reassured me that it was still good for him. They pulled me closer and I obeyed. Then we arched and started to fall apart, but I managed to move so we ended lying side by side, a world whose boundaries were set by our joined breath. 

His fingers graced my mouth, stroking my lips. I took them inside, laving them with my tongue, exploring the salt of his flesh. He moaned again and substituted his mouth, opening his lips for me to explore. 

Finally, we staggered to the bathroom, both of us weary and weak legged from the intensity of our passion. We washed each other clean, stopping along the way to savor the flavor of our love. He had to lay the prosthesis aside, and he was finally truly naked to me. He allowed me to look at him, his head bowed and his eyes dark with trepidation. I gently stroked both arms, kissed his left shoulder until he moved my mouth to his neck. I suckled the tender flesh, while his hand kneaded my back like a kitten.

Both of us were hard again. We're not young anymore. Not old yet, but old enough to know we'll pay for this tomorrow. We were going to be sore and exhausted, but it didn't matter. We knew without saying that it was my turn to feel him inside me. I wanted that as badly as I wanted to penetrate him. I wanted it all, all of him. 

I remembered taking him in violence and anger, in Hong Kong, in Russia. His body trembling beneath mine as I tried to forget what it felt like to love him. I had taken him like a Sabine women, a spoil of war. Yet even in my rage, he won. He, in his surrender, made me weep. 

Guilt made me want him to take me like that. To rape my willingness and relish my pain. Instead, he was loving and tender. As he moved inside of me and above me, I said, "I love you. Alex, forgive me."

His stillness was an act of will. I could feel him shaking on the edge of coming, but he took a moment to gather my hand and kiss it. "Just love me. That's all the absolution either of us need."

His expression was sweet and wild as he rode me. I couldn't wait for him as my body shuddered and arched upward in paroxysms of rapture. By the time, I had subsided; he was releasing, biting his lips, his eyes closed, and his eyelashes fluttering as if in agony. I thought that I understood at last why I had to hurt him after he left. To see even a mockery of that joy. 

This time, we were prepared, wash cloths to the side so that, reasonably clean, we could spoon together, content and spiraling down into a languorous doze. Finally, his breath grew heavy. He slept in my arms. 

I watched over him, reluctant to close my eyes lest he disappear like some elfin treasure, too precious and rare to be held by a mere human. His eyes flickered half open and he murmured, "Mulder, my Mulder."

Smiling, I kissed him back to sleep, following him down, contentedly. He was just as mortal as me, just my lover after all.

Light falling across my face woke me. The blinds were wide open and the moon was full. He was still in my arms just where he was meant to be. 

I thought about all the things we've done and all of the places we've been. I'd spent the last few years searching, not even sure what I had lost until now. I thought I needed closure and vengeance, but I was wrong. 

In the end, I found no justice, only mercy. The only truth that mattered was the love we had laid aside and found again.

The light spilled over us. His hair had grown longer again and a strand fell over his forehead. I leant over to kiss his cheek. He frowned, indenting that odd little v-shaped wrinkle over his nose. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He was really more beautiful than ever. His lips were open, rose petal soft in color and as tender. He reached up to brush my kiss away still asleep. It was his left arm, and I winced, hoping that he doesn't wake to notice. It was okay. He didn't complete the gesture, just snuggled closer to me, seeking the reassurance of my warmth.

I watched over him and remembered. Summum Bonum, the pinnacle of good to me was lying asleep in my arms at last.

Finis


End file.
